The Start of Something New
It’s been years since I last put my thoughts to paper. Writing has always been a healing practice for me—ever since childhood, it’s helped me process emotions and experiences that felt too heavy to carry. Words have been my way of making sense of the world around me. But like many things in life, this practice fell by the wayside when responsibilities began to pile up, and the busyness of life took over.
Seven months ago, as I sat in my 17-year-old son Luke’s hospital room in the trauma ICU following a severe car accident, I found myself searching for any shred of hope—grasping for something familiar in a place that was anything but. In that moment, journaling became a small lifeline, a way to untangle my fears and create a space for my emotions to land. It allowed me to express what felt too overwhelming to share with others, without adding to the worry and burden of those I loved most, as I faced my deepest fears about Luke’s survival and recovery.
One particularly terrifying night, Luke’s vital signs and brain pressure monitoring showed signs of distress. Despite the medical team’s efforts—adjusting ventilator settings, administering medications to manage his high heart rate and pain—nothing seemed to make a difference. In that moment, I was overcome with a deep sense of helplessness. Luke was still in a coma, his condition critical, and there was nothing I could do or say to ease his suffering or change the outcome. All I could do was be present, supporting the nursing staff and holding vigil, praying for his comfort and survival.
Once the most intense moments passed and Luke stabilized, I found myself needing a way to release the swirl of emotions flooding through me. I turned to journaling—a vital tool for grounding myself and processing my feelings. It became an essential part of my self-care, helping me navigate the overwhelming experience of advocating for and caring for Luke in his most vulnerable moments.
In the midst of the darkest days of my life, journaling became my refuge. I didn’t have to censor my words, reassure anyone that I was okay, or pretend to be strong for Luke. On those pages, I didn’t need to be put together—I could simply be. For the first time, I allowed myself to admit my fear that Luke might die, that I could be left to live the rest of my life with only 17 years of memories of someone I loved more than life itself. Words that felt impossible to say aloud were easier to write down with my favorite pen on dotted paper. In those moments of journaling, my mind was able to tune out the relentless beeping of monitors and the shrill sounds of alarms, focusing instead on making sense of the chaos and unfamiliarity of the trauma ICU around me.
Nearly 15 years ago, during a challenging divorce, I learned the power of vulnerability and how it can transform pain into strength and courage. That experience, along with the years that followed, taught me the value of being open and honest about my struggles—a practice I’ve relied on to build a full and meaningful life. When the shock of Luke’s injuries began to fade, I leaned heavily on the lessons I had learned from my divorce to help me navigate another period of uncertainty, fear, and a lack of control. Looking back, I realize how these lessons allowed me to approach the early days of Luke’s car accident and recovery with intention. They gave me the strength to show up in the most difficult moments, knowing that I was bringing my best self to stand beside my son as he fought the greatest battle of his life.
Just as journaling became a reflective and healing practice during my divorce, it played the same role during Luke’s hospitalization and inpatient rehabilitation. It allowed me to process our experiences and clear my mind so I could be fully present for Luke and his medical team. Those pages hold something sacred—raw, unfiltered pieces of my heart. Even now, I’ve only dared to read a few entries. Maybe it’s fear, maybe it’s exhaustion, or maybe something I can’t quite name—but I’m not ready to revisit those words just yet. The wounds I poured onto those pages are still too fresh, too tender. So, I wait.
Healing, after all, can’t be rushed. My friend Meg once reminded me, “Things take the time they take.” It’s a lesson I’ve carried with me every day through Luke’s recovery. No two brain injuries are the same, and everyone processes trauma differently. Giving myself the time, patience, and freedom to let this healing process unfold at its own pace has been one of the greatest gifts I could give myself. I hope you’ll allow yourself the same grace as you navigate your own trials, whether they be life-altering like a divorce, a severe car accident, or other unexpected challenges.
Just like picking up that pen in the trauma ICU, writing this first blog post is another step toward making meaning of this life-altering season. My hope is that by sharing my journey, you’ll find encouragement for yours. I’ve waded through desperate times alone in the past, and I believe isolation can be one of the greatest obstacles to healing. That doesn’t mean we need to share everything with everyone, but when we can trust others with our stories, that’s where the magic of healing can truly take root and transform our lives.
If you’re navigating your own journey of healing and looking for a safe place to land, I invite you to subscribe to The Love Letter, my weekly newsletter filled with encouragement, hope, and light. Healing is a personal and often challenging journey, and having a source of consistent support can make all the difference. Each week, I’ll share insights, personal stories, and practical tips to help you care for yourself, build resilience, and deepen your capacity to navigate life’s toughest moments. This newsletter is designed to offer you a space to pause, reflect, and be reminded that you don’t have to face your challenges alone. By subscribing, you’ll receive gentle guidance to help you stay grounded and emerge stronger, more hopeful, and more equipped to embrace the journey ahead. Additionally, The Love Letter will remind you of the incredible value you bring to this world and provide the centering you need when life feels overwhelming.
This is just the beginning. In the coming weeks, I’ll be sharing more about what this journey has taught me—about faith, resilience, and the unexpected beauty found in life’s hardest moments. I hope you’ll walk this path with me and remember you’re not alone.
Keep shining,
