A personal story about a rainy morning, a worried mama heart, and the slow, quiet practice of choosing light. Sometimes hope doesn’t rush in—but it still finds its way through.

Recovery is a marathon, not a sprint, and sometimes the smallest steps make the biggest impact. Each small victory, whether it’s a blink, a word, or a step, adds up to something far greater than we could have imagined. It’s in these moments that we realize how progress is made, not all at once, but one step at a time.

Sometimes, the smallest acts of grace—offered by a stranger or a friend—can be the very thing that helps us keep walking through the dark. When the weight feels unbearable, even a single spark of kindness can remind us that we’re not alone.

Journaling became my refuge in my son’s ICU room—a place to pour out my fears and cling to hope. Now, through writing, I’m making meaning of this journey and sharing it with you. Join me as we find light in even the darkest seasons.