For the last year and a half, this blog has been unusually quiet.
It wasn’t because life had become uneventful. It was because life had become so full of grief, confusion, change, and quiet healing that I simply didn’t have words. I wanted to write in a way that honored God, honored others, and was still honest about my own journey. That took time.
Today, I finally feel ready.
During this season, my marriage has slowly come to an end. Out of love for everyone involved, I won’t be sharing private details or specific stories. Those belong within a small circle of trusted friends, wise counselors, and—most importantly—the Lord, who has seen every hidden moment. As Hebrews reminds us, “Nothing in all creation is hidden from God’s sight.” (Hebrews 4:13)
One does not walk away from a marriage because everything is wonderful. My experience included patterns of confusion, broken trust, and emotional harm that, over time, I could no longer minimize, explain away, or absorb into myself without serious damage to my body, mind, and spirit. Through it all, I have clung to the comfort of Psalm 31:7: “You have seen my troubles, and you care about the anguish of my soul.”
For a long time, I believed that being a “good Christian wife” meant accommodating more, forgiving more, sacrificing more, trying harder, praying harder, and somehow disappearing a little more each day. I violated my own boundaries, ignored the quiet warnings inside my heart, and convinced myself that if I simply loved better, the marriage would eventually become what I believed God intended it to be.
Instead, I slowly lost parts of myself I never imagined could disappear.
Over the last eighteen months, through countless tears, prayer, wise counseling, and God’s gentle conviction, He has shown me something I had misunderstood for years. Proverbs tells us, “Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it.” (Proverbs 4:23) For most of my life, I focused on guarding everyone else’s heart except my own.
I now understand that guarding my heart is not selfishness. It is obedience.
Guarding my heart has meant acknowledging trauma instead of spiritualizing it away. It has meant grieving not only the marriage I lost, but the marriage I believed I had. It has meant accepting that some of the dreams I cherished were built on a picture that wasn’t fully real. It has meant learning to say, “No more,” in places where I once only said, “I’ll try harder. I’ll give more.”
Romans 12:18 says, “If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.” Sometimes “as far as it depends on you” means making every sincere effort toward peace while recognizing that peace cannot be created by one person alone.
If you’ve ever lived with a painful gap between someone’s public image and your private experience, you know how disorienting that can be. I wasn’t questioning what I was seeing. The struggle was enduring repeated denial, conflicting explanations, and conversations that left me feeling as though truth itself had become difficult to hold onto. Over time, that kind of chronic emotional strain takes a tremendous toll on both the body and the soul.
Jesus said, “By their fruit you will recognize them.” (Matthew 7:16)
Learning to trust what God was showing me instead of dismissing it has been one of the hardest lessons of my life.
Through the kindness of trusted friends, excellent therapists, and several gifted Christian teachers—including Leslie Vernick, Kris Reece, and Natalie Hoffman—I began finding language for experiences I had never known how to describe. Their wisdom didn’t tell me what decision to make; it simply gave me permission to ask honest questions and to recognize that God is not honored when His children slowly disappear beneath the weight of ongoing emotional harm. I felt like I was dying inside.
Looking back, I can also see extraordinary grace woven throughout this season. Friends opened their homes when I needed safety. Family carried burdens I couldn’t carry alone. Wise counselors patiently helped me untangle years of confusion. God often answered my prayers not with immediate solutions, but with people who reflected His love back to me. I truly don’t know how I would have survived this season without the body of Christ.
My purpose in sharing this isn’t to place anyone on trial. God alone knows every heart and every circumstance. My desire is simply to bear witness to what He has been doing in mine—to acknowledge the pain honestly while giving Him glory for the healing that is slowly unfolding.
One of the hardest surprises of this journey was how numb I became to God for a season.
When a person’s nervous system lives in survival mode long enough, even the ability to feel God’s nearness can become muted. I used to carry tremendous guilt over that. Now I understand it as part of being human.
Some days my entire prayer consisted of five words:
“Jesus… please help me.”
That was all I had. And it was enough.
Yet He never left.
“My soul is downcast within me; therefore I will remember you.” (Psalm 42:6) “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” (Psalm 34:18)
Those promises carried me when feelings could not.
The stress has not remained in my heart and mind alone. It has affected my body as well.
Recently I’ve experienced significant fatigue, shortness of breath, and persistent tension in my chest and neck. Instead of receiving my scheduled cancer infusion, my oncologist ordered an emergency echocardiogram and a PET scan, wanting to rule out causes beyond stress. I am praising God — hands lifted high — that the results are in and my prognosis has not changed. As many of you know, I have been NED — No Evidence of Disease — for the last three years, and I am still in the clear. Dr. Johnson confirmed that two areas on my right chest wall that they’ve been monitoring for several years have not changed, and may even be slightly smaller; they do not appear cancerous and may simply be scar tissue. I will continue with my every-three-week treatments and trust Him with the road ahead. I am so grateful that the pain, grief, and trauma I’ve carried has not gotten stuck in my body and invited the cancer back. “Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you.” (1 Peter 5:7) “He restores my soul.” (Psalm 23:3) I will continue to share updates, in the hope that even this part of the story might encourage someone else to listen when their body begins whispering that something is wrong before it has to start shouting.
Part of caring for my health has also meant changing where I live.
For nearly a year I stayed with family and friends because remaining at home no longer felt emotionally safe for me. Later, we were able to coexist under the same roof for a season as peacefully as two people in our circumstances probably could. Even so, my body continued telling me that something wasn’t healthy. Eventually, since he would not leave, I did. Now that the camper van we had dreamed of building together has been completed and he has moved out, I’ve returned to prepare our home for sale.
That chapter is closing.
I don’t know exactly where God will plant me next, but I know He has already gone before me. “The Lord will guide you always… He will strengthen your frame.” (Isaiah 58:11)
One of the deepest griefs has been letting go of dreams I genuinely loved.
Many of you know how much excitement and hope I poured into the camper van we were building together. It represented so much more than a vehicle. It represented retirement adventures, mountain sunrises, hidden campsites, shared laughter around campfires, and years of exploring God’s creation together. I grieved not only the loss of a van, but the loss of the future it represented.
That grief is real.
And yet, slowly, God has been lifting my eyes toward new dreams. Perhaps those adventures will simply look different now.
There will still be camping.
Still kayaking.
Still hiking.
Still pottery.
Still sunsets.
Still laughter around campfires with dear friends.
Still grandchildren to love.
Still beautiful places to explore.
Still a little house somewhere that I hope will become a sanctuary of peace.
The dream has changed. But hope has not disappeared.
In fact, God has already begun opening doors I never expected: simple camping trips, time with my “Chinese son” in California, visits with friends in Wyoming, treasured days with my daughter and her family in Florida, and in the fall, doors opening to Brazil and Panama — opportunities I never would have imagined, but which feel like little love notes from God in this new chapter. “See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?” (Isaiah 43:19)
Perhaps the greatest surprise is that I’m beginning to sense the sweetness of God’s presence again.
I find myself talking with Him — not as though He were disappointed in me for failing to save a marriage at any cost, but as a tender Father who has quietly walked beside me through every sleepless night, every confusing conversation, every tear, and every difficult decision. “The Lord is my shepherd; I lack nothing.” (Psalm 23:1) “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” (Psalm 147:3)
For the first time in a long time, I feel hope beginning to outweigh fear.
If I’m honest, the depth of this experience has left me with no desire for another romantic relationship. That may change someday; it may not. For now, I feel complete peace placing that entire part of my future into God’s hands. My heart is too precious to hand back into the kind of risk I’ve known. Instead, I find myself delighting in friendships, family, grandchildren, quiet mornings with Jesus, and the freedom to simply become the woman He created me to be. “‘The Lord is my portion,’ says my soul, ‘therefore I will hope in Him.’” (Lamentations 3:24)
So why break the silence now?
Because I want this little corner of the internet to become a place of honesty again. Not a place for gossip. Not a place for accusations. But a place where I can share what God is teaching me about healing, trauma, boundaries, grace, and the surprising ways He restores broken hearts. I want to testify that sometimes the most faithful thing a woman can do is to step out of a covenant that has been deeply damaged, to guard the heart God entrusted to her, and to seek peace as far as it depends on her — trusting that “the Lord is a refuge for the oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble.” (Psalm 9:9)
If you are reading this as part of my extended family, church family, or circle of friends: thank you for allowing me to speak in broad strokes rather than specifics. Out of love for everyone involved, I ask that you would resist the temptation to speculate, assign blame, or choose sides. My hope is not to convince anyone of anything about another person. My hope is simply to tell the truth about my own journey with God, while honoring the dignity of others as much as possible.
And if you happen to be walking a road that feels anything like mine, I hope you’ll hear this:
You are not invisible.
You are not beyond God’s reach.
And you are not alone.
I don’t know exactly what the next chapter of my life will look like. I still have grief. I still have healing ahead of me. I still have questions. But I also have hope — more hope than I’ve had in a very long time.
So this blog will no longer be silent.
I’ll continue sharing what God is teaching me as I learn to walk this new road — one step at a time, hand in hand with the One who has never left my side.
Thank you for walking with me.
May the God who has carried me through this valley meet you faithfully in whatever valley you may be walking today.
