A Piece for Lindsay-In Honor of Her

There are people who pass through our lives quietly, without headlines or recognition, and somehow leave an imprint deeper than the loudest chapters ever could. Lindsay is one of those people.

I've been walking the halls at work this week carrying a kind of tenderness I didn't expect - the kind that sits in your chest like warm water. The kind that slows you down. The kind that reminds you that being human is both unbearably fragile and achingly beautiful.

Lindsay has lived a hard life. She never had the ease or safety that so many of us take for granted. And yet, even inside all that struggle, there was a spark, a softness, a sweetness, the kind that only comes from someone who has endured more than we’ll ever know.

The last few days, when I've gone to her room, I have said the same thing: It's me. I'm here. I love you. And she always knew. Her eyes will open, or she will make a small sound - a response from somewhere deeper than words. Even now when her body is tired and her spirit is almost ready to go home; she knows love when it comes near. She knows presence. She knows she is not alone. That matters. It matters more than anything.

This morning, I met her dad in her room. I met her son the night before and I met pieces of her life that carry their own stories, their own pain and their own unfinished conversations. Every room is full of things we will never fully understand about someone else's life - and that's OK.

What we can do is show up. We can bring gentleness. We can bring dignity. We can bring the kind of presence that says, you mattered here. Your life touched mine. Lindsey's life did that for me. So this is for her - a quiet honoring.

A soft place for her name to live.

A reminder that even when life has been hard, love can still find a way to get in. And when her time comes to slip from this world to the next, I hope she feels held. I hope she feels safe. I hope she feels the love that has surrounded her these last days. Because she deserves that. Every person does. And I'm grateful - deeply - that I got to be one of the people who stood beside her at the end and said the words she could still understand; I'm here, you're loved, and you're not alone.

In the days before her body grew quiet, I was given the opportunity to share the Gospel of Christ with her while she was still awake, alert, and able to accept Jesus into her heart. I don't know how to explain it except to say that I felt God's presence settle around her like a blanket. No matter what her life held, He held her. And now, I trust that His same love will carry her the rest of the way home.

In the middle of all this loss, God stitched another quiet blessing into my days - Lindsays sister Katie. Through these visits, our paths folded together, and what became shared concern slowly became a steady, human connection.

We walked the same hallway, carried the same worry, and spoke the same prayers over the woman we both love. It hasn't been dramatically rushed, just two hearts meeting honestly in a hard place. I'm grateful for her presence, for the way we've been able to support one another, and for the reminder that even in grief, God still weaves people together with purpose.

As Lindsay reaches the end of her journey, I will hold all of it - her courage, her sister's strength, and the tender holiness of these days - as something sacred.

Lindsay leaves imprints of her love through her two children~ her young daughter and her son~ and I hold them in my heart as well as I write this. May they find comfort and peace in the midst of this.

Romans 8:38-39 For I am convinced that neither death nor life nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Walking through these days with Lindsey has reminded me how sacred it is to simply show up for someone. I don't take that lightly. Her story touched me in a way I'll carry forward, and I'm grateful for every moment of gentleness, honesty, and presence we were able to share. May this space honor her life, her light, and the quiet way she changed the woman I am becoming.

I’ll see you in heaven sister~

with all the love my heart has to give~Lena

You Are Not Weak-You Were Wired to Stay

There is a question almost every survivor of abuse asks at some point: “Why didn't I leave sooner?” And beneath that question sits an even heavier one: “What's wrong with me?”

I want to tell you something very clearly: there is nothing wrong with you. You didn't stay because you were weak. You didn't stay because you lacked intelligence, strength, or self-respect. You stayed because your nervous system was doing exactly what it was instructed to do - Attach where it felt familiar. Familiar is the keyword. Sometimes familiarity feels like love when you've never known safe love before.

If chaos was the rhythm of childhood, then silence feels threatening. If approval was rare growing up, then breadcrumbs of praise felt like a feast. A simple thank you could be a feast for the emotionally starved. If love was conditional, unpredictable, or dependent on your performance or behavior then intense relationships can feel like home. Notice the opposition. Almost like oil and water that does not mix.

Trauma bonds aren't about logic. They are about survival. Your body was trying to keep you connected to what felt familiar, not necessarily what was healthy or safe. And here's the part no one tells you: Leaving is not the end. Sometimes staying gone from the danger is the hardest chapter. Because when the danger is gone, your nervous system still expects the same pattern, the same intensity. It still reaches for what used to soothe you even if that’s what also hurts you. That isn't weakness. That is nervous system wiring. It’s an addiction.

But your wiring can change. Slowly. Steadily. Kindly. Every time you choose peace over chaos, you are rewiring. Every time you pause instead of going back to what broke you, you are healing. Every time you learn that love doesn't have to hurt, you are becoming someone new. And one day - it may be quiet when it happens - you realize you're not fighting to stay away anymore. You're simply choosing who you are now. If no one has told you yet today: I'm proud of you. You are healing. You are rebuilding. And you're allowed to take your time.

You were wired to stay where it felt familiar, but you are learning to leave. You are retraining your nervous system for safety. And that is strength. And maybe the hardest part of beginning to heal is realizing that healing isn't a single moment where everything suddenly makes sense. It's a slow unfolding. A remembering. A coming home to yourself after years of abandoning your needs just to keep someone else comfortable.

Some days you'll feel strong and certain, other days you'll wonder if you imagine the hurt or if going back would be easier than sitting with the ache of what you lost. But that's the nervous system learning something new. Because real healing isn't about never thinking of them again. It's about being able to think of them without losing yourself. It’s choosing peace over chaos, truth over fantasy, and your future over your familiar past. If you're somewhere in that middle space, the space between who you were and who you're becoming, take a breath.

You're not failing. You're transitioning. And transitions feel shaky because you're walking out of your old identity and into a life built on self-worth, boundaries, and honesty. One day, sooner than you think, you'll look back and realize: it wasn't that you stopped loving them - it's that you finally started loving yourself more. If this is where you are right now stay with yourself. You're doing the brave work. And you're not alone.

Until we blog again

~Lena~

This Doesn’t Feel Like Love

Sometimes understanding begins quietly- not with certainty, but with a feeling you can't quite explain. Maybe that's where you are today: reading, thinking, or noticing something that doesn't sit right anymore. I have come to realize through my own trauma, that many of us grew up learning versions of love that weren’t love at all- they were survival patterns, unspoken rules, and emotional compromises we were taught to normalize. And sometimes the first step toward healing isn’t leaving, fixing, or deciding- it’s simply naming the truth: not everything we’ve called love has been love. If reading this makes something inside you tighten, ache, or quietly whisper, this feels familiar then you’re right where you’re supposed to be.

As little girls, we learned love through stories, not experience. We watched princesses wait —quiet, hopeful, patient — until someone arrived to rescue them, choose them, complete them. We were shown rescue, not reciprocity. Adoration, not communication. Fireworks, not emotional safety. And without realizing it, many of us grew into women expecting love to feel dramatic, overwhelming, or intense —because we were taught that chaos meant passion and longing meant love. No one told us that real love doesn't require saving, sacrificing yourself, or shrinking to fit someone's expectations. Real love doesn't rescue you —it meets you.

Ask your heart~ When you think about the version of love that was modeled to you when you were a child, does it feel comforting, confusing, or unfamiliar? Notice your first reaction. Whatever rose first…. honor it. It’s speaking for a part of you that finally feels seen.

Somewhere along the way, the fairy tale begins to unravel. Love doesn’t feel magical —it feels confusing. Instead of feeling chosen, you find yourself trying to prove you’re worth choosing. Instead of speaking honestly, you soften your words and tuck your needs away. Instead of feeling safe, you feel unsure… But stay anyway, because it feels familiar, and you believe love requires loyalty and patience no matter the cost. And when things don’t feel right, you don't question the relationship- you question yourselves. Because no one told you that love isn't something you earn or chase. No one told you that if love feels like self-doubt, fear, or shrinking to fit someone else's comfort, it isn't love—it's survival.

I'd like to tell you what love is not. It is not heaviness in your chest or the quiet fear of saying what you really feel. Love is not adjusting yourself to be easier, quieter, or less. Love isn't waiting for someone's mood before you can breathe. It is not uncertainty disguised as passion. Love is not longing for the version of someone who only shows up sometimes. And love it is not making yourself disappear so the relationship can stay alive. Real love doesn't ask you to hide, shrink, or abandoned yourself. Real love meets you —as you are and grows.

Ask your heart~ What emotions surfaced as you read that-softness, resistance, sadness relief, or something unnamed. Whatever rose first…. honor it. It’s speaking for a part of you that finally feels seen.

Sometimes realizing what love in fact is can feel both painful and relieving. There may be a part of you that wants to look away —and another part that finally feels seen. Both are valid. Healing often begins in this uncomfortable space between clarity and uncertainty, where the truth feels raw but also strangely freeing. You're not wrong for not knowing sooner, and you're not late to understand now. You're just waking up to a new idea of loving and being loved—one that doesn't require you to disappear.

I want to share with you what healthy love should feel like. Healthy love should feel steady not rushed. It feels like exhaling in someone's presence instead of bracing. Healthy love feels like being able to speak honestly without rehearsing your words first. It feels like being listened to —not just heard. Love feels like space, not pressure. Like belonging, not performing. It feels like being full of yourself —messy, growing, learning —and still being met with kindness instead of fear, anger, or withdrawal. It feels like two people choosing each other —not to complete one another, but to walk alongside one another. Real love doesn't silence you. It softens you. It makes room for your voice. You are worthy of a voice, and you matter.

It’s okay if healthy love feels unfamiliar or even uncomfortable. When you've spent years calling survival “connection”, safety can feel foreign. Kindness might feel suspicious. Calm may feel like distance. And consistency —the very thing you long for —can feel almost impossible to trust. You're not broken for feeling this way. You're just realizing there is another way to love and be loved —one where you don't have to earn your place or silence who you are to keep the peace. Learning healthy love isn't about rushing or getting it perfect. It's about slowly recognizing the difference between what hurt you and what will heal you.

You don't have to have all the answers right now. You don't have to know what comes next or how to undo what you once called love. The fact that you're here —reading, recognizing, feeling —means something inside you is shifting. Awareness is the beginning. Healing is the becoming. And love, real love will meet you at your pace, not demand you hurry. You're allowed to take this slowly. You're allowed to learn a new way. And you're allowed to believe that love can feel safe.

Ask your heart~ What part of you softened while reading this even if only a little? Whatever that softness was is the doorway to healing.

You're not alone in this. If you're still figuring out what you feel, still naming the truth, or still learning how to choose yourself —this space was made for you. Not to rush you or tell you who to be. I want to walk with you as someone who has been right where you are. Things will get clearer, softer, and more honest inside when your spirit learns how to recognize what you’ve been carrying.

If something here resonated —even quietly —stay. Come back when you need a reminder, a moment to breath, or proof that your experience matters. Healing isn't a straight line, and you don't have to navigate it in silence. You deserve connection, understanding, and a place where your story isn't too much or too complicated.

This is just the beginning, and I'm grateful you're here. Whenever you're ready —not rushed, not pressured —there is more to explore, more to untangle, and more of yourself waiting to be met with kindness.

Until we blog again

~Lena

Come As You Are

Hi, I'm glad you’re here with me.

Maybe you found this page because something inside you is tired- searching- curious-unsure— or a mix of all that. If so, I have been just where you are. So many of us reach a point where life stops making sense the way it used to, and we quietly start looking for something real. You showed up here, that’s the beginning of refinement. You are a masterpiece starting to master your peace.

If any part of that feels true for you, then take a breath- you're exactly where you need to be. For a long time, I didn’t know how to express what I was feeling- I just carried it- the confusion, the hurt, the unmet needs - like stones packed into an invisible backpack. And over time, it became so heavy that I could barely move under its weight. What you have been holding onto doesn’t make you weak- it means you’ve been surviving with what you had.

I've learned that most people don't speak up when they see someone struggling in an unhealthy relationship. Not because they don't care, but because they don't know how to approach the conversation or feel uncomfortable naming something so heavy. And I understand that now. Walking through what I've walked through has given me something that can never be taken away: Clarity and a Boldness. A willingness to name what feels wrong and speak the truth without softening it. Not to shame anyone, and not to judge — but because silence keeps people stuck, and the truth is what finally sets things in motion.

This space isn't defined by gender or circumstance — It's for anyone whose searching, questioning, healing, or learning. Some people will come here because they're hurting. Some because they're confused. And others because they want to understand themselves or their relationships better. And some will come because they want to show up differently for the ones they love or themselves.

Before I found clarity, I spent years moving through relationships I didn’t fully understand. Three marriages, three endings-and each time, I told myself I was doing what anyone committed would do: try again. I didn’t analyze it or ask why. I just carried it all. But in my last marriage, something changed. I didn’t have language for it then- I just knew something in me broke open and I couldn’t keep living the same story.

Here, I want to talk honestly with you- no blame, no shame, and no choosing sides. I want to have mutual respect for each person’s journey. I want to explore with you patterns, behaviors, communication, emotional habits, and the ways that wounds sometimes disguise themselves as love.

We'll talk about growth, boundaries, self-worth, red flags, green flags, and what healthy connection actually looks and feels like. This isn’t just a place to process pain —it will also be a place to learn, rebuild, and practice a different way of relating to yourself and others. Whether you're healing, reflecting, or learning how to love better —there's room for you here.

Connection matters to me. Not numbers, not clicks, not traffic~ people. If you've found your way here, I want you to know that you're not just passing through a page on the internet, You Matter. Your story matters. And if you choose to share even a small piece of it, it will be received with respect and understanding. This space is a no judgement zone. My intention is to build something human —a space where every person feels seen, valued, and acknowledged. Nothing fancy. Nothing polished. Just real.

Healing isn't just about unpacking the pain — it's about noticing the progress. The small wins, the daily victories, the subtle shifts that remind us we're growing. This space is for the breakthroughs, the resilience, the courage —even when it shows up in the smallest ways.

You made it here, and that matters. Whether you're sorting through your own story or simply beginning to pay attention to something inside you, this space is here for you. There's no pressure to rush, no expectation to perform, and no timeline you have to meet. Just take what resonates and leave the rest. The truth has a way of finding you when you're ready for it. And maybe this —right here, right now —is the beginning of something new.

Until we blog again

~Lena