Christmas in the Quiet

Christmas came not long after my world fell apart, when the world still did not know. When I was sitting in the dark, but not alone, because I had a few amazing women sitting in it with me. This is the story of women, from everywhere, who walked me home. I would not be where I am today without them. If you are reading this and you are one of them, thank you. You were my greatest gift then, now, and every year in between.

When the World Was Celebrating and I Was Holding My Breath

The lights were up. The songs were playing. The rituals continued. But inside, everything was quiet in a way that only grief can make it. I was carrying a truth too heavy to share yet, standing in a season that celebrates joy while my own heart was still learning how to breathe. And it was then; before explanations, before announcements, before clarity, that the women came.

They did not ask for details.
They did not demand strength.
They did not rush the unfolding.

They surrounded me in the quiet.

Mary and Elizabeth

I think now of Mary and Elizabeth, two women holding sacred stories no one else could yet see. One carrying promise. One offering recognition. Scripture tells us that when Mary entered Elizabeth’s home, she was seen, not questioned, not doubted, but recognized. That was the gift these women gave me. They saw me.

The best therapy is always found on the trail, and always with a sacred friend, and healing rarely requires you stay on the trail. The Appalachian Approach Trail, Ga.- February, 2024

Learning How to Be Held

They sat with me when the dark pressed in hardest. They spoke life when I could not yet speak it for myself. They held space when I had no words, and they guarded my story until I was ready to tell it. I would not have made it without them. Braving the wilderness taught me how to stand alone. But these women taught me how to be held. They were my greatest Christmas gift in that season—not wrapped or announced, but steady, faithful, and present. Their love was not loud. It was holy. It IS everything, still.

Burning marshmallows, drinking wine, and crying together with one of my oldest friends. I sure wish she lived closer. Smalltown, Georgia-January, 2023

The Women Who Showed Up

There is a kind of bravery that only happens in community, a strength born when women choose one another, again and again, in seasons of uncertainty. From the very first moment, within minutes, there was a friend on the other end of my broken-hearted text. In the middle of the night, there was a friend who answered when I called and said I could not breathe. She herself had walked this road before. She prayed with me in the midnight dark. The next morning, I met my dearest friend at the library before it opened. We sat in the children’s area that had always brought me life, and she held me while I wept. And so it continued……

Thank you to those who came for me, and continue to do so.

Through Every Season

Through the announcement.
Through the transition.
Through the rebuilding.
Through earning my degree.
Through new friendships and unexpected gifts.

Thank you.

To the friend who showed up at work when the announcement came, who marched straight back into the private area, wrapped me in her arms, and looked me in the eyes to make sure I knew I wasn’t alone. Thank you.

To the friends I ran into at the grocery store during COVID who said, “We aren’t supposed to hug, but we absolutely are anyway.” Thank you.

To my landlord and friend, who said, “Whatever you need,” and who still cheers me on to this day, you are kindness embodied. Your own story of grief and loss has inspired me deeply. What a gift you are. Thank you.

To all the Facebook friends who learned the truth when we made our announcement online, you showed up when a pandemic would not let you do so in person. You are still showing up. Thank you.

To the women from church, and there were many of you; you fed me, prayed with me, loved me, and carried me. Thank you.

To the women I have met along the way, seemingly by chance but not by accident, who carry the Spirit of the living God, and keep my faith burning, Wow! You are for real bringing heaven to earth. Thank you.

To the friends I see only occasionally because of distance, but with whom I have lived so much life, your friendship remains gold to me. Thank you.

To the friends who saw me in my car in the Chick-fil-A drive-thru, many moons ago now, and jumped to your feet shouting, “Are you okay?”—you will never know what that meant. Thank you.

To the incredible women I have worked for over the past five years, wow. You nurtured, healed, and rebuilt me in ways you may never fully know. You are all perfect examples of Boss Babes. Thank you.

To my mother-in-law, you are the queen of all mothers-in-law. Divorce did not change your love for me, or mine for you. Thank you.

To my daughters, there are not enough words, but I will try. You have carried me, protected me, encouraged me, and loved me fiercely. You have grown into your own beautiful womanhood and marriages; at the same time, you were healing yourselves. You are fierce, beautiful, and strong, and boy, do you love all people. I am so incredibly proud of you. Truly, what would I do without you? Thank you.

To my Stella and Blake, you are my sunshine on a cloudy day. You are the reasons that I strive every day to make this world a better place. Gigi loves you more than you will ever comprehend. Thank you.

And finally, to my two besties, my ride and thrives: there would be no me without you. You have walked me from the depths of hell all the way through my becoming, and we are not done yet. You speak truth to the bullshit; you love me like no others. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

This Christmas, I want to honor that same spirit. The women who stood by me then. The women who have walked with me since. The women who remind me that becoming is not meant to happen in isolation. We need each other. We need places where truth can rest before it is revealed. We need relationships that whisper you are not alone before the world ever asks questions. We need women who will walk us home, not because we are weak, but because we are better together. If you find yourself in the wilderness this Christmas, carrying something tender, sacred, or heavy, I hope you know this: You were never meant to do this alone.

May you find your Elizabeth.
May you be someone else’s Mary.
And may we continue to choose one another, in courage, in faith, and in love.

And may you always, especially when Braving the Wilderness, stay….Deeply rooted. Delightfully curious. Always becoming.

Braving the Wilderness: Bravery Was Never Meant to Be Solo-The Women Who Walked Me Home