Everybody loves to tell their story once they’ve made it through. They talk about the healing, the lessons, the glow-up after the storm. But what about the now ? What about the messy middle—when you’re still raw, still trying to figure out how to breathe, still waking up every day in a life you didn’t choose? Nobody talks about that part. When my 15-year marriage ended, I didn’t just lose a husband. I lost the version of life I thought I’d always have. I went from wife to single mom overnight. And let me tell you—living in that shift isn’t some quick, inspirational montage. It’s day after day of trying to hold my kids together while quietly falling apart myself. It’s learning to pay bills on my own. It’s sitting in silence after they’ve gone to bed, wondering how the hell I got here. This is what acceptance looks like in the now : it’s ugly, heavy, and flat-out bullshit . It’s crying in the car so the kids don’t see. It’s putting on a strong face when you’re breaking inside. It’s carrying the weight of regret, anger, and disappointment, while still getting up every morning because people depend on you. And yet—even in the middle of this bullshit—there are glimpses of blessings . Not the kind that make everything better overnight, but the kind that remind me I’m still growing. Freedom is starting to peek through in little ways—like realizing I don’t have to compromise my peace anymore. Perseverance shows up every time I keep going when I feel like quitting. Growth is slow, but it’s happening. And maybe, just maybe, peace and joy are waiting somewhere further down this road. I’m not on the other side yet. I can’t package this up as a pretty testimony tied with a bow. I’m still living it. And maybe that’s the part people need to hear most: acceptance isn’t a destination. It’s a process, a daily grind, a mix of bullshit  and blessings . And some days, the only victory is simply making it through.

Blessings Over Bullshit: Finding the Light While Walking Through the Dark When I was seven years old, I was diagnosed with leukemia. At seventeen, I became homeless and lost my dad. By twenty-one, I had buried my mom. I thought I had already survived the worst life could throw at me—but life kept testing me. I entered an emotionally abusive marriage, held on as long as I could, and eventually found myself divorced with three kids—one of them a special needs son who teaches me daily about patience and unconditional love. Somewhere in the middle of all of this, my faith in God wavered. Some days, I held on tight. Other days, I let go completely. Anxiety and depression became part of my reality. For years, I searched for stories that didn’t just tell me about the success at the end of the tunnel—I wanted to know what it looked like in the middle of the mess. What does it feel like when you’re praying but don’t feel heard? When you’re trying to be strong for your kids but cry in the shower every night? When you’re searching for blessings but all you can see is the bullshit? That’s why I created Blessings over Bullshit—not as a story of perfect faith or flawless strength, but as a real look at what it means to stumble, to break, and to rebuild. This isn’t about pretending the pain isn’t there. It’s about choosing to look for even the smallest blessings in the middle of chaos: a child’s laugh on a hard day, a friend’s unexpected text, a quiet moment of peace in a storm. If you’re in the thick of it right now, please hear me: you’re not failing because it’s hard. You’re not less faithful because you’re questioning God. You’re not weak because you cry or feel broken. Surviving the storm doesn’t look pretty—it looks like showing up anyway. I’m still figuring life out. Some days I get it wrong. Some days I lose my faith and find it again. But I believe there’s power in being honest about the journey, not just the destination. And I believe that even in the ugliest seasons, there’s a blessing waiting to be uncovered—no matter how small