If I had to name a chapter of my life, it would simply be called “The Hard Years.”
It was a season of becoming.
There were days I questioned my future, wondered if I was enough, and searched for purpose in places where God was quietly building it all along. I learned what it meant to be disappointed, to start over, to parent through difficult seasons, to watch dreams change, and to keep moving when I didn’t always know where I was going.
There were tears no one saw.
Prayers only God heard.
And mornings when simply getting out of bed felt like an act of faith.
But those years also became my greatest teachers.
They reminded me that my identity isn’t found in my circumstances.
That healing isn’t a destination—it’s a daily decision.
That forgiveness doesn’t excuse what happened; it frees the one who chooses to forgive.
And that God often does His deepest work in the seasons we would never choose for ourselves.
What got me through?
My faith.
The quiet assurance that even when I couldn’t see God’s hand, I could trust His heart.
My children gave me purpose when I felt like giving up.
My family reminded me that I was never carrying the weight alone.
And hope…
Hope kept whispering,
“This isn’t the end of your story.”
Looking back now, I wouldn’t wish those years on anyone.
But I also wouldn’t trade what they produced in me.
The hard years gave me compassion.
They gave me resilience.
They gave me wisdom that comfort never could.
They gave me a deeper appreciation for joy.
And they taught me that flowers often bloom from the very places where the ground was once broken.
Today, I don’t celebrate the pain.
I celebrate the God who carried me through it.
Because sometimes the chapter that almost breaks you…
becomes the chapter that introduces you to the person God was shaping all along.
Amen x