Livingwithwhit

Tag: healing

  • Faith Over Fallout

    The snow was so beautiful today.
    It reminded me of being a little girl—when life felt lighter, when I didn’t carry so many questions or so much pain.
    There’s a quiet that comes with fresh snow, a stillness that makes the world feel safe for just a moment.
    I’ve always thought the world looks more peaceful after it snows… maybe because everything is finally forced to slow down.

    I used to dream about what my life would be like when I grew up.
    I had so many hopes, so many expectations.
    And if I’m being honest, my life turned out nothing like I imagined.

    For as long as I can remember, life has been hard.
    Everyone I have ever truly loved has either walked out of my life or passed away.
    And because of that, I searched for love in places I should have never looked.
    I ignored every red flag, made excuses for people who hurt me, and gave parts of myself to those who wouldn’t lift a finger if I was drowning.

    I believed love was something you earned by giving more of yourself.
    By staying.
    By forgiving.
    By trying harder.
    And that belief broke me in ways I’m still healing from.

    I’ve carried so much heartache and grief that parts of me went numb just to survive.
    When something good happens now, I don’t trust it—I question it.
    I wait for the catch.
    I prepare for the ending before the beginning even has a chance.
    My mind learned a long time ago that good things don’t last… and somehow, that they were never meant for me.

    Yesterday, words were said to me that cut deeper than they should have.
    Words that took me right back to places I never want to return to.
    In seconds, I was that broken version of myself again—questioning my worth, doubting my value, wondering why loving me has always felt so difficult for others.
    It’s terrifying how fast trauma can resurface.
    One sentence can unravel years of healing.

    I called my mom crying—angry, hurt, exhausted from fighting battles no one else sees.

    Then someone said something that hit my soul:
    “Choose yourself every single time. Don’t let anyone into your life unless they absolutely deserve to be there.”

    And I realized how long I have spent choosing everyone else.

    It’s been 64 days since my life changed.
    Sixty-four days of grief, growth, tears, prayers, and rediscovering parts of myself I thought were gone forever.
    I’m reading again.
    I’m back in school.
    I smile more—sometimes through tears.
    I dance again, even when my heart still hurts.
    I’m learning to be present, to breathe, to sit with both the pain and the healing.

    I could sit and replay every mistake I made out of trauma.
    Every time I loved someone who didn’t love me back.
    Every time I stayed when I should have left.
    But every heartbreak, every loss, every moment of grief has shaped the woman I am today.

    Despite every roadblock, I have flourished.
    Most people would never know my story unless I chose to share it—because I still show up, still smile, still carry on.
    But behind that strength is a heart that has been cracked and mended more times than I can count.

    What carries me when I’m tired…
    What steadies me when I feel unworthy…
    What holds me together when everything feels too heavy…

    Is my faith in God.

    And maybe the snow isn’t just reminding me of who I used to be—
    maybe it’s reminding me that even the coldest seasons can be beautiful,
    and that God can still create something pure and new from everything I thought had broken me.

    I am not an option, I will not beg for effort, and I will not ever lose myself again for people who do not breathe life into me.

    My worth is no longer negotiable!!

  • When Forever Ends and Healing Begins

    Tonight, I find myself asking a question I’ve been asked more times than I can count: Am I ready for the dating world?
    Some days I believe I am. Other days, I’m not so sure.

    People say it’s too soon. But is it really? I grieved my marriage while I was still in it. I mourned the loss of us long before it officially ended.

    Before my husband ever told me he was unhappy, I prayed a dangerous prayer. One night, I asked God to expose anyone who was not meant for me. I never imagined that prayer would include the man I married—the man I supported without question, the man I believed was my forever. Our entire marriage wasn’t bad; we shared real joy and genuine memories. I still don’t fully understand what changed. All I ever asked for was his time.
    I’ll save the rest of that story for another blog.

    I’ll be honest—I haven’t always made the best choices in friendships or relationships. I see the good in people, sometimes to my own detriment. I love deeply, care wholeheartedly, and give others what I so desperately hope to receive in return.

    My greatest fear in this dating world isn’t rejection—it’s starting over.

    For years, I was made to feel like I wasn’t good enough. Not pretty enough. Like my very existence—my breathing—was an inconvenience. That kind of damage doesn’t disappear when the relationship ends. It settles into your bones. It makes you question your worth, your voice, your right to take up space.

    I’m afraid of failing again. Afraid of opening up. Afraid of letting someone see the most fragile, unguarded parts of me—the parts that were once dismissed, minimized, or ignored.

    So how do you start over after ten years with someone you thought would be your forever?
    How do you trust again after trust cost you so much?
    How do you heal trauma that rewired how you see yourself?

    I don’t have the answers yet.
    But I do know this: asking these questions doesn’t mean I’m weak. It means I’m aware. It means I’m healing. And maybe—just maybe—it means I’m learning to choose myself this time.

    And perhaps readiness doesn’t mean being fearless…
    maybe it simply means being brave enough to try.

  • Finally

    Looking at this picture, you would never know that 56 days ago, my life cracked wide open.

    Fifty-six days ago, my husband told me he wasn’t happy anymore—that he needed to find himself and God. And while it hurt, it wasn’t shocking. The truth is, the last three years slowly erased me. I lived in survival mode for so long that I forgot what it felt like to breathe. I lost my confidence. I lost my voice. I lost myself. I stared in the mirror and didn’t recognize the woman looking back. I wasn’t searching for myself anymore—I was trying to survive myself.

    The first two weeks after he left were brutal. I cried until my body ached. I barely slept. Food felt impossible. People asked if I was okay, and I lied without thinking. “I’m fine.” But I wasn’t fine—I was empty, shattered, and carrying a kind of sadness that doesn’t scream, it suffocates.

    Then something inside me snapped—in the best way.

    I stopped abandoning myself. I chose me. My peace became non-negotiable. My needs mattered. And if something disturbed my peace, I didn’t explain myself—I said no. No guilt. No apology. No fear. I stopped walking on eggshells. I stopped pretending. I stopped shrinking to make someone else comfortable. And for the first time in years, I slept through the night.

    Fifty-six days ago, I was broken.
    Today, I am breathing again.

    What felt like rejection was actually release. What felt like loss was freedom. Him leaving didn’t destroy me—it gave me my life back.

    I made a promise to myself: no one will ever again have control over my body, my mind, or my worth. I am no longer surviving—I am rebuilding. Becoming the strongest, healthiest, most whole version of myself isn’t optional anymore.

    It’s my responsibility.
    And this time, I’m choosing me.