Personal
My Story: The Good Season That Almost Broke Me
From the outside, everything was going right.
Inside, constant fatigue had settled in like an unwanted guest who wouldn't leave. Motivation vanished. The darkness felt physical. Like a weight pressing down on my shoulders every morning before my feet hit the floor.
The breaking point came at that birthday party.
Our house was packed with kids. Laughter bouncing off the walls. My daughter living one of the happiest days of her young life.
And I couldn't be there for it.
I slipped upstairs, closed the door, and sat on the edge of the bed. Tears came. Confusion came.
“God, what is wrong with me?”
The shame crushed harder than the depression itself. I'm supposed to lead others. I'm supposed to have answers. Yet I can't even celebrate my own child.
Well-meaning advice stung more than it helped. Cheer up. Pray harder. Count your blessings.
But depression doesn't work that way.
It's not a faith problem. It's not hidden sin. Sometimes it's just a storm that rolls in without warning and stays longer than you ever thought possible.
“Sometimes the most faithful thing you can do is get out of bed and whisper ‘help.’”
Therapy helped unpack roots I didn't know were there. Prayer brought truth to lies I'd been believing for years. Community held space when I couldn't hold myself together.
The season lasted months.
But God remained faithful.
He doesn't waste pain. He never has. He uses it for deeper empathy, stronger connection to Him, greater compassion for others walking similar valleys.
I've written more about this journey in my bags were packed and cut me into a thousand pieces.