Going, Asking, Finding

I left it all behind to find one thing.

The job.
My apartment.
Our marriage.
All gone.

It wasn’t just that these things weren’t working—they were slowly destroying me.

So why don’t I feel free? Why don’t I feel lighter? What is missing? It’s not love that’s missing. That’s still there in the midst of all the pain of letting go.

Grief is strange like that—unsettling, unpredictable, relentless. Deceptive.

For years, I’ve been going places, asking questions—and I’ve found joy greater than the pain.
But recently, depression has tried to hijack that journey. It’s been a constant, heavy presence these past several months. Honestly, it still is.

I don’t say that lightly.
It’s been trying to take me under, and I know something has to give.
I need to make a drastic shift—to shake the unstable ground I’ve been standing on. I’m hoping the fractured pieces will shift into place.

Death took my dearest friend.
Addiction stole the love of my life.
Discrimination stripped away a healthy workplace.
Hopelessness opened the door—and shame walked right back in, clouding the mirror once again…

Even the most basic daily tasks became too much.

The day I had an emotional meltdown at work, I knew this wasn’t just another episode of anxiety or depression. The foundations of my being were cracked. I was no longer stable.
So I let it all fall.

I crumbled—on purpose.

Human Resources at my new job was understanding, my family and friends supportive. And before walking away, I sought counsel from people I trust—wise, grounded voices because I couldn’t afford another knee-jerk reaction that I’d regret.

So, I left it all to find the one.

Yes, Jesus. But, not really because He’s never left…it’s me.

I’m finding … me.

And maybe that’s the bravest thing I’ve ever done.

I’ve found that beauty tends to dwell in the quiet, unnoticed corners of life — and healing, too, can slip past if we’re not watching.
The timing of the perfect gift in the mail.
A dandelion dancing in the wind.
The knowing look of an old friend.
The instant familiarity of a new friend sitting across from you.
The release of deep belly laughter.
Words on signs. Words on boxes.
A tall tree standing steady in the middle of a yellow field beneath a wide blue sky.
Even the old floors of a country store creaking beneath my feet.

Beauty lightens the load and allows a tired soul to exhale.

These moments don’t fix everything—but they remind me I’m still here.
Still breathing. Still on the journey.

So, I’m paying attention.

I want to share those moments—the small glimmers of hope, the hidden beauty I find along the way.
Not because everything’s perfect, but because noticing them is part of healing.
Maybe, if I share what I see, it will help you see something, too.

Do you want to be well? Me too.

We don’t have to rush to the finish line.
There’s meaning in the middle.
In the quiet.
In the details we almost miss.

Thank you for reading. I’ll be sharing more reflections, more questions like this, along with glimpses of beauty I find along the way.
If you're on a similar path—of healing, of searching, of letting go—know this: you're not alone.

And there’s still beauty here.

Isaiah 54:2 “Enlarge the place of your tent, and let the curtains of your habitations be stretched out; do not hold back; lengthen your cords and strengthen your stakes.

Psalm 91:4
“He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.”