Quiet Season

Take the Leap - Risk the fall 

I decided it was time to step out of my little comfort bubble and finally release the life I thought I’d have. If there’s anything the Lord has shown me again and again, it’s that His way for my life will always exceed any plan I could make for myself.

But when the decision came down to it, all I could think about was my baby girl and the life I wanted for her. I knew moving meant risking our relationship for a season. I knew she’d be upset with me, that I’d be the “worst mom” in her eyes for taking her away from her friends. The thought of hurting her, after everything she’s already endured.. broke me.

So like I always do, I took it to the Lord.
Where do You want us? Where do we belong?

I didn’t get my answer right away. But slowly, it became clear: home is wherever we build it, and as long as I remain in Him, we will be okay.

During this period, I wrestled with my faith, with my perspective on certain things, and with that same exhausting question: “Is this right?”

I’m gonna be blunt here for a second and drop an f-bomb, so forgive me, but here’s what I learned the most in this season:

Fuck what people think. Jesus loves you.
That’s it. That’s the whole truth.

For so long, I molded myself into a version of a woman I felt trapped inside of, someone who lived to meet expectations, to appear “put together,” to stay in the lines everyone else drew for her. But when everything fell apart and I had nothing left to cling to except God, I realized there are only a few things that actually matter:

1. Am I a good woman who owns her faults, but strives to be more like Jesus every day?

2. Am I a good mom, giving my daughter a life she won’t have to spend years healing from?

3. Do I bring value to the spaces and lives I enter?

4. Am I making the most of the one life God has given me?

Everything else… opinions, assumptions, judgments, whispers, expectations?
They don’t mean a damn thing to me. 

So I chose to be quiet for a season, to reset, realign, and center myself fully on the Lord. I’m learning that’s exactly how our walk with Him works. Just when you think you’re deep, just when you think you’re close, He shows you there is always more… a deeper surrender, a deeper trust, a deeper closeness waiting for you. 

He finds us in the messy, in the uncertainty, in the anger, right in the middle of the parts we try to hide and He loves us no less.

I was living a lie in Torrance. Holding onto a chapter whose ending I already knew, yet somehow convincing myself that if I just kept rereading it, I could rewrite it. No… it didn’t happen. It’s going to be made right. The hurt didn’t really happen. My daughter and I weren't abandoned

I kept repeating those things, hoping they’d undo the truth. But they didn’t. What happened happened and nothing could erase time and take it back

For so long I sat in the dark trying to bring my light into it. And the hardest reality I had to face was this: some places and some people are just dark, and you have to let them stay there. You can’t save everyone.

I know one of the gifts the Lord gave me is the ability to heal. I look at every person on this earth with so much love, simply because I know they matter to someone. My heart naturally pours itself out, especially to people drawn to my light. As a healer, my instinct is to give, to mend, to patch every wound I see.

But here’s what God had to teach me in this season:
healing others is not the same as rescuing them.

Some people don’t want light.
Some people aren’t ready for it.
And some people will take everything you pour out and still stay exactly the same.

For so long, I confused my calling with my responsibility. I thought that if God gave me a healer’s heart, then it was my job to fix every broken thing placed in front of me. I thought love meant staying, enduring, trying harder, praying harder, giving more of myself until there was nothing left.

But God never asked me to set myself on fire to keep someone else warm.
He never asked me to sacrifice my peace to maintain someone else’s comfort.
He never asked me to dim my light to match someone’s darkness.

What He did ask of me… was obedience.
Discernment.
Boundaries.
And the courage to walk away when He said, “That season is over.”

So despite knowing how hard it would be to say my final goodbye to that chapter, I stepped into the next one with open hands—trusting that wherever the Lord placed me, and whoever He placed in my life, would all be part of His plan.

The season leading up to my goodbye was quiet. I moved silently, almost gently, like God was preparing my spirit for the shift before my feet ever took the step. And I thought that once I moved, once I physically left that chapter behind, the quiet would lift.

But instead, I feel called even deeper into it.

I can’t fully explain it, but something in me knows this quiet is part of my healing. Part of my restoration. And maybe… just maybe… it’s making room for someone who understands the quiet too.

So we’re here… standing in a place I never expected, with no idea what this new home holds or where this road God has placed me and my baby girl on will lead. But even without the details, I can feel it, this season is different. It’s intentional. It’s sacred. It’s special. 

And maybe that’s the beauty of it. Not knowing, but trusting anyway. Walking forward without a map because the One who leads me has never failed me. I don’t need every answer to feel at peace. I don’t need to see the whole path to take the next step. All I need is Him and the quiet assurance that whatever is ahead is worth every mile it took to get here.

So I’m choosing to walk this road with open hands and an open heart. Letting God write the story, trusting the detours, welcoming the blessings, and believing that the best chapters are still unfolding for me and my girl.

Because if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s this:
where God places you is never by accident and His timing is always on time.