Thriving Through Grace

Author: Anonymous

  • Grieving Through Good

    Grieving Through Good

    Recently, a friend suggested I might be grieving my past. At the time, I brushed it off. Between battling depression and hormone fluctuations, I didn’t give the thought much weight. But later, in a conversation with my husband – one I had been avoiding for a while – I realized just how right that friend might have been.

    Let me first say how grateful I am to have a husband I can be honest with. He listens without judgment, and his advice is always grounded in love. Still, the topic I brought up was terrifying. I admitted something I had been praying would just go away: I missed the friendship I once had with my ex – and even his family. Not because I wanted a romantic relationship again, but because that part of my life was meaningful, even in its brokenness.

    Speaking those words aloud made me realize I am grieving. Not just a person, but an entire chapter of my life – both the good and the painful parts. I’ve been feeling so alone lately, especially when it comes to friendships. And my husband, with such tenderness, helped me see that maybe what I have been feeling is lonliness. I never truly found closure from that version of myself or from what that relationship meant, either.

    I’m grieving a life I wanted, a life I once had, and struggling to fully embrace the one I have now – a life filled with function and peace, yet one that feels foreign.

    When I started experiencing PMDD symptoms alongside depression, it felt like I was unraveling. My husband would say, “There’s no reason for you to feel like this. We’re doing okay now; we have a stable life, a new car, a clean home, steady jobs.” And I would cry, “I know. I hate feeling this way. I don’t want to feel like this.”

    The numbness was the worst part. Even moments of celebration – like getting a new car – felt empty. I couldn’t get excited. My mind was flooded with anxiety about what my parents would say, about not being able to fully enjoy the good.

    Grief like this – grieving a life I never had, grieving a life I did have, and trying to live the life I have now without self-sabotaging – might be the most refining thing I’ve ever walked through. I have cried, prayed, begged God to take it away. But the surrender part? That’s been the hardest.

    I keep wondering: Why now?  Why am I just feeling this way when so much of the pain is supposedly behind me? The truth is, I’ve spent years staying busy—working, moving, numbing, avoiding. And now that I’ve slowed down, the emotions I suppressed are finally surfacing. It’s as if the stillness has made room for grief. And in those quiet spaces, the enemy loves to whisper lies.

    Even now, when emotions rise, I shove them down until my luteal phase hits, and then the dam breaks. Hormones make it impossible to hold it all in, the women will get it.

    There are days I wish I could erase it all – forget the people, the pain, the memories, just to feel a little normal and enjoy my now life. But I can’t. And maybe that’s okay. Because in this tension, I’m learning to surrender. It’s not perfect, and it’s definitely not easy. But I’m trying. Through prayer, support, and little bits of clarity, I hope to come out the other side stronger.

    For now, I’m learning to give myself grace, trying to build a life the opposite I was raised is exaclty where God is calling me.

  • My Family Doesn’t Know My Husband

    Instead of going all the way back to my childhood, I’ve decided to start this story with more recent events.

    I got married about a year ago. For as long as I can remember, I prayed for a man who would love God first and lead spiritually. After ending a long-term relationship of three years, I was actually excited to be on my own and grow in my relationship with Christ. But I was terrified to tell my family I had ended things. Little did I know, that fear was just the beginning.

    Two months later, I met my now-husband. Definitely not my timing – but absolutely God’s. We connected immediately. Late-night conversations turned into early-morning send-offs, and I quickly fell in love. But I kept it from my parents.

    Why?

    Because he had earrings.

    At the time, my husband was into basketball, and pierced ears were part of the culture. To him, they were just earrings. But I knew how my parents would see it – and I wasn’t wrong.

    Though I had already been on rocky terms with my parents since moving away, things got much worse after I told them. My dad’s reaction was heartbreaking – he called my boyfriend every cruel name imaginable; queer, gay, a cross-dresser, you name it. My mom was quieter but just as hurtful, often judging silently and getting frustrated with me when I reacted to the pain.

    For a while, I only told my sister and grandma, knowing they wouldn’t judge him. That was my mistake. When I finally told my parents, everything exploded.

    Months later, it was Easter. I told my family I would only visit if my boyfriend could come, which led to another blow-up. My dad eventually agreed, and we visited. My mom, however, didn’t even acknowledge us. She stayed home deciding not to meet us at lunch, and when I went to the house, she walked right past me hardly saying a word. She later told me it was because she had had a headache and had just woken up from a nap. I knew better – she had told me the day before, “I want you, and only you.”

    It took six months for my mom to finally “meet” my boyfriend – if you could even call it that. She shook his hand at my best friend’s wedding and didn’t say another word. All the while, she remained close with my ex, disregarding my boundaries and relationship entirely.

    From there, things blurred. I skipped Thanksgiving and Christmas because I couldn’t bring myself to walk into that house alone again.

    The next year, my husband and I decided to get married—even though he hadn’t officially proposed yet. We did things a little backwards, but it worked for us. I invited my mom, sister, and grandma to go wedding dress shopping, but they had other plans. They pushed for me to fly to Nashville or Salt Lake City instead, even though that would have excluded people I deeply wanted there—like my best friend, mother-in-law, and sister-in-law. So, I went without them.

    A few months later, I cut contact. I had prayed about it endlessly and felt uneasy no matter what, but for the sake of my relationship and peace during my engagement, I had to let go. And honestly, I found a lot of peace in doing so.

    The question of whether to invite them to the wedding weighed heavily on us. We prayed, sought wise counsel, and chose grace – even though they had done nothing to build up our relationship and everything to tear it down. We invited them anyway.

    We were met with resistance. Some relatives refused to come because of what we had done, and my parents accusing us of inviting them “just for show.” Even now, after the wedding, my family barely acknowledges my husband.

    As a daughter who’s always just wanted her parents’ love, I’ve had to accept the painful truth: I can’t change them. But I do have a husband who loves me without condition. It still hurts that my family doesn’t know him—but we’re okay. We really are.

    What we’ve endured has made us stronger. My husband, who came from a loving, supportive family – the complete opposite of mine – has stuck by me. He’s forgiven my family time and again, even when they’ve been cruel. That speaks volumes.

    God has worked in mysterious, often painful, but beautiful ways throughout this journey. I’m grateful – for the scars, for the victories, and for the growth. We’re still figuring things out, but through prayer and patience, we’ve found peace. We’ve chosen grace over bitterness – even when anger bubbles up – because grace is the only reason we’re still standing.

  • Introduction

    Hi! I am so glad you are here!

    Let me start by saying: this isn’t easy. God never promised life would be, but I don’t think any of us expected this. I know I didn’t.

    For the sake of my family’s privacy, these posts will remain anonymous – unless the Lord leads me to share more openly. This blog is my story, my journey, and a space I feel called to create. It’s my outlet, but more than that, I hope it becomes a place where you feel seen and understood.

    I’m still young, still learning, still growing. I’m in the thick of my own healing, but I believe God can use our stories – no matter how messy – to bring light to others. So, if you’re walking a similar road, I hope this space reminds you that you’re not alone.

    I grew up in a semi-Christian home, often stepping into a spiritual leadership role that felt far too heavy for a child. My parents struggled with addiction, and my dad was gone often for work while my mom worked long hours. I have a younger sister, and because of our family dynamic, I took on the role of caretaker more than I should have.

    As a result, I grew up feeling unseen, unheard, and unloved. Watching my parents show more affection to my sister led to years of frustration and jealousy – feelings I’m still working through. All of this made it hard to know who I was, and even harder to believe I was loved by God. But He’s slowly showing me otherwise.

    After years of dysfunction – where even Scripture was used as a weapon instead of a tool for healing – I finally found some freedom, at least physically. Due to unforeseen circumstances, I left my family home, choosing discomfort both physically and financially in exchange for the freedom I had always longed for. Leaving that environment wasn’t easy, and living without their approval still hurts. My parents rarely show up for me – or for my spouse. They don’t truly know my husband, and I’d be lying if I said that doesn’t still sting.

    But that’s what this blog is about.

    As I share the situations I’ve walked through and the steps I’m taking toward healing, I hope you find encouragement. Maybe you’ll relate. Maybe you’ll learn. Maybe you’ll even have advice for me.

    Wherever you are in your journey, I’m glad you’re here. Let’s walk this road—together.