Tag: emotions

  • The Things I Once Prayed For (And Sometimes Forget to See)

    There’s something sacred about looking around your life and realizing you’re living inside answered prayers.

    The home.

    The kids.

    The health.

    The steady love.

    The moments of peace you once thought you’d never feel.

    And yet… lately, I’ve been struggling. Not in a way that screams for help, but in that quiet, heavy way that makes you forget how far you’ve come.

    It’s not that I’m ungrateful — I am. I know how hard my husband has worked for this life. I know how much has changed. But mentally and emotionally, I’ve been going through a storm. There are days I feel lost in my own head, like I’m constantly searching for where I belong and if what I bring to the table is even seen.

    Motherhood is hard.

    Marriage is hard.

    Being a working mom is hard.

    Being a stay-at-home mom is hard.

    Trying to show up for everyone while figuring out who you are is hard.

    Lately, I’ve been diving deep into the Let Them theory by Mel Robbins — the idea that when you finally get through something big, your mind and body kind of crash. You let your guard down. You fall apart after the breakthrough.

    That hit me. Because that’s exactly where I’ve been.

    After years of pushing through survival mode, after getting sober, after building this beautiful life — I’m now sitting in the emotional release. And it’s confusing. Because why would I feel down when everything looks so good?

    But I get it now.

    It’s a letdown. A pause. A chance to process.

    Sobriety, too, has stripped away all the numbing I used to rely on. No more hiding behind a glass of wine. No more muting the shame or the self-doubt. I’m feeling everything now — and that’s powerful, but it’s also hard.

    The tears I used to cry.

    The prayers I used to whisper.

    They built the foundation of this life I’m standing in.

    I’m still healing.

    I’m still learning to love myself — especially the parts of me that I used to hide.

    And I’m still figuring out how to be proud of where I’ve been because it’s what made me the wife, mother, and hard-working woman I am today.

    Today I was listening to a podcast with Mel Robbins and Jay Shetty, and one thing really stood out:

    It’s okay to notice things in others — even to feel judgment or jealousy — but don’t let it harden you. Let it inspire you.

    That’s been a huge shift for me.

    Instead of letting someone else’s success make me feel “less than,” I’m learning to say: “If it’s possible for them, maybe it’s possible for me, too.”

    So here’s your reminder — and mine:

    You are allowed to be overwhelmed and still be grateful.

    You are allowed to grieve your past while celebrating your growth.

    You are allowed to feel it all.

    And you are never alone in that.

    The life you’re living now?

    You once prayed for it.

    Don’t forget to see it.

  • Walking Through Grief in Sobriety: When Loss and Healing Collide

    This week has been heavy. My heart feels tender, and emotions are sitting closer to the surface than usual. On Monday, my grandmother passed away. Though she was technically my grandmother through my mom’s second marriage, she was still very much mine. A part of my heart, a piece of my history, and someone I genuinely loved.

    Even though I hadn’t seen her in years, the grief still hit hard. Memories rush in—her smile, her stories, the warmth she carried. It’s a strange ache, losing someone who hasn’t been in your daily life, but who still held a place in your soul. I’m grieving not only her absence now, but also the years we didn’t get to share, and the final goodbye I didn’t get to say.

    What makes grief even more complex is walking through it sober.

    I’ve lost many people throughout my life—some through tragedy, others simply due to the passing of time. And while we all know loss is a part of life, it never gets easier. Each time, it brings a new wave of emotion, a different kind of heartache. But grieving in sobriety brings a whole new level of vulnerability.

    Before I chose this sober path, I would’ve reached for something to numb the pain—a glass of wine, a few drinks to blur the edges of my emotions. But now, I feel everything. All of it. The ache. The tears. The quiet moments where my chest tightens and I don’t know whether to cry or pray.

    Staying steady on the road of sobriety while grieving isn’t easy. There’s no escape hatch, no shortcut through the sorrow. But what I’m learning—again and again—is that feeling the pain is part of the healing. It’s part of honoring those we’ve lost. It’s part of honoring ourselves.

    I find comfort in knowing that my grandmother is at peace now, reunited with loved ones who were waiting to greet her in Heaven. That brings me solace. But my heart still hurts—especially for my stepdad and his family. Loss doesn’t just touch one person; it ripples through everyone connected to that soul.

    Grief has a way of reminding us how deeply we’ve loved. And I’m learning that there’s beauty in that—even when it hurts.

    If you’re walking through loss and trying to stay sober, I want you to know you’re not alone. You don’t have to have it all together. You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t hurt. You just have to keep showing up—for yourself, for your healing, and for the people who still need you here.

    Feel the pain. Let the tears fall. Talk to God. Write it down. Take a walk. Reach out. Rest when you need to.

    And remember: it’s okay to grieve and grow at the same time. It’s okay to feel the ache of loss and still hold hope in your heart. Sobriety doesn’t take away the pain, but it does give us the clarity to walk through it with grace.

    To my sweet grandmother—thank you for the memories. Thank you for your love. I’ll carry you in my heart always.

    And to anyone grieving today—whether you’re one day sober or a few years in—I see you. You’re doing better than you think. Keep going.