Even This. Even Now.

Even there your hand will guide me, and your strength will support me. Psalm 139:10

I can’t say I’m surprised.

I’ve written about pain and suffering many times—sharing my experiences of walking through the valley, always hoping it would help and encourage others. It never felt right to stay silent. How could I not tell people that there’s still hope in the middle of grief, loss, and heartache?

But this time, I hesitated. And yet, here I am—just me, my laptop, and Jesus. Like before, I’m sharing my story in obedience to His call, offering it up for Him to use however He pleases. Because if even one person realizes that they are not alone and that there is beauty and hope in the mess, then it’s worth it.

This time, though, things are different.
In past journeys, I stood beside loved ones facing death, praying fervently and believing for miracles. I had the privilege of witnessing one of those miracles while the other miracle came on the other side of Heaven.

But this time, it’s not about someone else.
It’s not life or death.
It’s me.
And my healing.

A Familiar Pain, But A New Battle

As most of you know, I was diagnosed with PTSD years ago after a series of traumatic events, including the loss of my father. I’m not here to retell that story, but what I will say is this: the very thing that triggered that season of trauma has, in some ways, reignited it.

It started just after Christmas 2024. Once again, me and my husband and one of my sons were sick with COVID. (Can I just say how tired I am of typing that word? At this point, it has become annoying just to utter it in my head).

It was my third or fourth round with it, but something about this time felt different. The usual symptoms weren’t present; it was difficult trying to explain to others how I felt. The fatigue and weakness were overwhelming and lingered in a way I hadn’t experienced before.

Living in Fight or Flight Mode

What I didn’t expect was how this round would affect everything else. In short, it left my nervous system completely frazzled—like a switch had flipped, and I couldn’t turn it off.

That “fight or flight” mode? It got stuck (according to my doctors and different therapists I tried), and the anxiety turned on full force. And with it, the PTSD that had quieted down started showing up in new, unexpected ways, woven into the day-to-day. It’s been unsettling. Exhausting. And honestly, at times, disheartening.

The guys recovered quickly. However, I was left trying to piece together my health and my peace.

Before all of this, I was living a quiet, ordinary life.
My happy place was spending time with my husband and family, writing, and creating and selling my art. My nervous system felt settled, and peace came easily.

That sense of ease I once had? It’s like it evaporated.
For a while, my body felt like it was in a constant state of alarm—startled for no apparent reason and always bracing for something.

Unexpected Triggers

Things that never used to affect me suddenly felt overwhelming.
Scenes of violence.
Conversations about death.
Noises blaring in the distance.
Being in closed-in spaces.
And, of course, medical settings.

Everyday experiences became more difficult—like visiting my dearest aunt in the hospital before she passed or preparing for the loss of my sister-in-law, now in hospice care. These aren’t just emotionally heavy—they’re physically and mentally disorienting.

There were days when my husband couldn’t leave for work because I was utterly undone—my mind racing with intrusive, anxious thoughts, my body trembling, and unrelenting panic attacks. Needless to say, this has tested my patience, tested my faith, and, most days, left me worn.

Why I Won’t Stay Silent

They say that you shouldn’t write about something until you have a good distance from it. However, one thing that has been evident in this is that the enemy would love for me to keep silent. He would love for me to keep it all in. To not let anyone see. To not help someone else who might be struggling, too.

So, no, I will not stay silent. I may not have a lot of distance from this yet, but I have enough to say this: if you’re struggling or walking through something hard, I will gladly walk beside you.

I’ll tell you what I’ve learned, what I’m still learning, what has helped, and what I’m trying. I’ll share how God has held and carried me- and how I know He’ll do the same for you.

I’ll share how my husband and family have stood beside me in love and support and how others can love and support their loved ones as they walk through the trenches.

I’ll share my heart, my faith, and the unshakable Hope that reminds me:

Even this. Even now. God is still good.