N8tivegirl

I question my whole existence. I question us.

When did our three-strand cord begin to unravel?

When did communication fall silent, and doubt and fear take its place?

Can I trust you with my heart?

Can I trust you to catch me when I fall?

I don’t feel safe—but I’m still here, present, searching for answers you don’t want me to find alone.

What do I do when the bridge between us has been damaged?

You hear me, but do you listen?

Are my words falling on deaf ears?

We’ve invested too much to simply throw in the towel and walk away.

The truth is, I’m not leaving.

I just want to repair the bridge… so where do we start?

I have one idea: I start with the One who created you.

I fall to my knees and ask God for direction.

I ask Him to show me how to reach you.

But before I cross that bridge, I must prepare myself for the journey.

So I pray for wisdom. I pray for the right words.

I seek His counsel instead of the noise of others.

Many people have walked this road, but every story is different.

Every twist and turn on my way back to you is uniquely ours.

So I trust God to guide me.

I ask Him to heal what He created.

We made vows—for better or for worse.

And lately it feels like the storms keep coming,

each one chipping away at an already fragile foundation.

Sometimes I look out the window wishing I could run away…

but I’m not a runner.

I’m a fighter.

Yet even fighters get weary when they’re swinging at a demon they can’t see.

So I invite God into our home, into our marriage.

Lord, rebuild what the storms have damaged.

Teach us to be one again.

Teach us how to communicate.

Father, we need You more than anything.

Help me weather this storm,

because right now I’m carrying so many emotions inside that I feel like I might scream, run, or break free.

But still — here I am, praying for us.

A Whisper, Not a Prayer

**If You’re listening…

my heart is tired tonight.

There are pieces of me I don’t really show,

fears I tuck away,

questions I don’t know how to say out loud.

If You’re near…

sit with me for a moment.

Calm this ache I carry.

Guide me in the quiet,

because I don’t always know what to do next.

Help us find softness again—

in our words,

in our home,

in each other.

And if I can’t feel peace yet,

just hold me together while I breathe through this.**

Author’s Note

These words were shaped by echoes I’ve heard in many hearts. No one story—just the quiet cry of women fighting to hold on to love while holding on to God.

May this reflection remind you that even in the storm, He is near, mending what feels broken and guiding every step back toward grace.