Tag: prayer

  • When Sobriety Meets Suffering: Shingles, Pain, and the Power of Staying the Course

    This week has brought me to my knees, literally and spiritually.

    I was diagnosed with shingles, and not just anywhere, on my eye. The pain is excruciating. It feels like someone lit a fire behind my face and it won’t go out. My eye is swollen, my head is throbbing, and every nerve on the left side of my face is screaming. It’s terrifying. Not only because of the physical pain, but because shingles in the eye can threaten your vision. That kind of fear can rattle you to your core.

    And let me be brutally honest: in moments like this, my old self starts whispering to me.
    “Just one drink. Just one cigarette. Just one moment to take the edge off.”

    That was my go-to comfort before. In pain, in panic, in sadness, I numbed. That’s how I survived back then. But now, I’m sober. And I’m not just sober when it’s easy. I’m learning how to be sober when it’s excruciating.

    There’s nothing easy about walking through a health crisis without your old crutches. My body is screaming, my nerves are shot, and my emotions feel like a rollercoaster. I’ve cried from the pain. I’ve cried from the fear. I’ve cried from the sheer exhaustion of holding the line.

    But I’m still holding.

    Because in this moment, I’m not turning to the bottle or the lighter, I’m turning to God.
    To prayer.
    To worship.
    To quiet moments of begging Him to get me through the next hour.

    And He is. He doesn’t always take the pain away. But He does meet me in it.

    I wanted to share this not because I have it all together, I don’t. But because someone out there might be going through their own storm and wondering how to hold on without falling back. This is your reminder: You can. You can do hard things. You can stay sober through the fire. You can cry and still be strong. You can feel broken and still be healing.

    Shingles on my eye may have knocked me down, but it hasn’t taken my sobriety. And it won’t. Because I’ve fought too long and too hard to get here.

    This is just one chapter, not the whole story.

    So I’m choosing faith over fear. Prayer over panic. Sobriety over suffering.

    And if you’re walking through pain too—physical, emotional, spiritual—I’m walking right beside you.

    We don’t have to hide our hard days.
    We don’t have to keep secrets anymore.
    We heal out loud.
    We stay sober—even in the storm.

    With love and honesty,

  • 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.