Five Years Later: Rebuilding Piece by Broken Piece

 "He loved me the best he knew how, but God stepped in so I could finally live in peace. Today, I honor my survival."

I missed writing purely to unload my heart—without the need for validation, likes, or views. It feels like stepping back into how I used to write in my younger years. Visiting this space again, where I once documented my journey through marriage, motherhood, and my relationship with God, brings a wave of mixed emotions. My last entry here was written a month after he died. Five years ago. Five years since I began rebuilding my life. Today marks exactly five years since he passed.

I didn't expect healing to be this messy. Grieving the father of my children, carrying the unresolved trauma of our marriage, and confronting past regrets—all while trying to rediscover who I am, piece by broken piece. I had to rebuild our life, provide, and hold everything together for my kids. That is what the last five years have truly looked like.

But my journey of survival didn't start five years ago; it began long before that. For a long time, surviving simply meant keeping my head down and navigating a life full of quiet storms. Looking back at the eleven years of my marriage, it was a time marked by deep complexity—moments of love and sacrifice alongside an overwhelming weight that often left me feeling lost, silenced, and stripped of my identity. I carried a silent grief even while living it, constantly crying out to God—the only One who truly saw and understood—trying to hold onto hope against the heavy reality of my daily life.

When he passed five years ago, the silence that followed was terrifying. Yet, in that very stillness, God began His quietest, most profound work. He didn't just carry me through the initial shock; He began the slow, delicate process of piecing me back together -- allowing me to stand face-to-face with realizations I never thought would be necessary so I can walk forward with my healing journey. He became my anchor when single motherhood felt like an impossible mountain, giving me the courage to view my life not as a collection of broken pieces, but as a quiet space waiting to be rebuilt in peace.

Today, I choose to honor that journey. There are still days when I must confront the aftermath of the life I once lived. I am only now beginning to grasp the depth of the damage, still working to heal from more than a decade of walking on eggshells and landmines. Yet, I am learning to accept just how long—and complex—the road ahead may be.

Today, I choose not to look back with hatred, nor to rewrite history to make it softer. I simply stand in awe of a God who saw my silent tears, met me in my deepest wilderness, and safely brought me to the other side.

Today, I choose to honor God and the journey we have walked together. Thank you, Lord, for continuously setting me free.