Hope After Heartache: A Journey of Healing

It was early one morning in 2010. I had just dropped my daughter off at preschool and my 2 year old son at daycare.

I parked my car in my driveway, opened my front door and headed straight for my bedroom. With my curtains closed to keep it dark, I fell into my unmade bed and began to cry.

Again.

What  exactly was I doing with my life? Where was I headed? I felt terrified and numb all at the same time.

I was living alone with my two small children, going through a terrible divorce and barely scraping by. I felt so alone. I felt like a total failure. This is not how I had planned for my life to go.

But yet, there I was.

I stayed in my bed all day. I’d cry until I fell asleep, then wake up and cry again. I did this repeatedly until it was time to pick up my kids.

This didn’t happen just one day; it happened over and over and over.

Whenever I had to go out in public, I managed to hold it together and go through the motions, but behind closed doors, I was a depressed, miserable wreck.

I could find no joy.

I knew I had to do something. I had to get control of my life. I had to find inspiration. I had to stop blaming myself. I had to let myself heal.

But how?

I prayed, but it felt like my prayers hit the ceiling and fell back down onto the miserable heap of human I’d become.

What was wrong with me? Why wasn’t God listening to me?

That day, the time came for me to pick up my kids. All I really wanted to do was pick them up and go back to bed, but the reality of knowing I had two little people depending on me, forced me to make a different decision.

“I’ll take them to the park,” I thought. “I’ll let them run off some energy while I try to sort out my thoughts.”

With that, I pulled myself together and headed out the door.

Later at the park, as my children laughed and played together, I sat on a small hillside just watching them. They were so beautiful; so healthy and happy. They didn’t seem to have a care in the world. They weren’t worried about the future or the past. They were happy right where they were.

At least I was doing something right.

I began to reflect on everything that had brought me to this precise moment. It had taken me years to get here, so why did I expect things to magically change overnight? What exactly was I expecting God to do for me while I was lying in bed crying and feeling sorry for myself? How did I expect my life to change, when I wasn’t doing anything to change it?

Like a ton of bricks hitting me, I remembered how I was always that person saying “You can’t help people who won’t help themselves.”

Talk about a rude awakening.

I decided to pray again, but this time, with a different attitude. I still had the same pain and darkness inside, but I owned it. I didn’t ask God to take it away, I asked Him to help me turn it in to something good.

And we did.

With that simple prayer and shift in my attitude, things began to change. It didn’t happen overnight — it was gradual — but it changed.

On the days I felt like lying in bed and crying, I went to see a friend instead.

On the days I was stressed about finances, I did something nice for someone.

On the days I felt like a failure, I played with my happy, healthy children.

On the days I wanted to blame others, I practiced taking responsibility.

On the days I felt the darkness looming, I took a long walk.

On the days I was overwhelmed, I practiced gratitude.

I found joy.

It was early one morning in 2024. I’d just dropped my daughter and son at high school.

I parked my car in my driveway, grabbed my beautiful baby boy from his carseat, opened my front door, kissed my husband, and with a huge smile, thanked God for how far I’d come.