Rebuilding Me: A Story of Healing and Hope

Trigger Warning & Personal Update

This post was originally written in 2019 during one of the darkest times in my life. Reading it now, I can see the depth of struggle I endured, but I can also see the light beginning to break through. I want to acknowledge that I am no longer in this place—I have come a long way, found healing, and surrounded myself with the right support. I detoxed from unnecessary medications, worked with a dietitian, adopted a healthier lifestyle, and underwent life-changing surgeries to regain my health. But most importantly, I committed to therapy—one-on-one, group sessions, and life coaching—all while deepening my faith through devotionals, Bible studies, and prayer. It was an intense journey, but it led me to rediscover myself, the person God always intended me to be. I share this now as a reflection, not as my current reality, and I recognize that it may be triggering for some. If you are struggling, please know that hope is real, and healing is possible. Again, please never give in. Don’t give up and tell someone! You matter!

Two Years

Over the last two years, my life has undergone drastic changes—so much so that it has even stolen my laughter and broken my smile, literally. Thank you, Bell’s Palsy. The weight of change, fear, loneliness, and the illusion of control has crippled me. I hate who I have become. Never in a million years did I think I would end up here. I am confused, unsure of what’s best for me, and that is terrifying. Isolation and medication have dulled me to the point where letting others pull the strings has felt easier than resisting. I have swallowed lies whole, without protest. And for that, I take full responsibility. Deep down, I know I am still in there somewhere, screaming, “Wake up!”

Emotionally, I have been wrecked for years. I have disappeared from my own life in every way possible. I exist, taking up space like furniture, completing tasks for my kids because they need me. I enjoy conversations with my sisters, and sometimes they even make me laugh. But just because I am alive does not mean I am living. I haven’t been for years. Every day, I feel like I am dying a little more.

Six Months… or so

The last six months have been the worst. For the first time since high school, I thought it would be okay if I were gone. I convinced myself the world would move on, that my absence would only cause a short-lived sadness. I believed someone would step in and do my job better than I. I accepted this thought with eerie peace, as though relief was just beyond the horizon. The hate I saw in his eyes would be gone. I would no longer be a disappointment.

These thoughts crept in silently, drowning me. I felt hollow, emptied by years of neglect—both from others and myself. When you lose control over your own life, you stop caring about it. I moved through my days like a sleepwalker, trapped in a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. Sometimes I was a spectator, watching myself from the outside, detached from reality. Other times, I felt like a ghost haunting my existence.

One and a Half Months… about

But then, something shifted. It was small—just a flicker—but it was something. Hope. It felt like a dead body slowly being brought back to life. Not fully, not yet, but the spark was there.

I began talking more, though my words often got twisted or used against me. I hated being told I wasn’t communicating enough. It was exhausting, so I would retreat into silence. But I started seeing something clearly—I was in therapy because of all the people in my life who refused to go. The door to escape was still there, always lingering in the background. But I was also beginning to hold onto something else: the possibility of change. The detox, the therapy—it was all working. And when no one listened, I talked to Jesus. He heard me when no one else did.

Now and Moving Forward (2019)

I have changed. I still have hard days, but they no longer define me. I am stronger now—mentally, emotionally, and physically. I have found healthier ways to care for myself, working with professionals who genuinely want to help. I no longer drown in isolation; I reach out. I am not perfect, nor do I strive to be. Instead, I aim to be whole.

Music has played a role in this healing, especially NF’s lyrics, which put words to emotions I never knew how to express. We are all a little broken. Some people hide it well; others move past it. Then, there are people like me—waves in the ocean, calm one moment, a raging storm the next. Some days, I feel healed. Other days, the pain resurfaces, reminding me of where I’ve been. But I no longer fear that stillness, the eerie quiet before the storm. Because now, I know I am not waiting for destruction—I am waiting for transformation.

Reconnecting with God has been the most challenging yet rewarding journey. At some point, I drifted so far I couldn’t see or feel Him. The distance grew slowly, unnoticed, until I was completely lost. Now, I am rebuilding that relationship, brick by brick, prayer by prayer. If this nightmare was His way of waking me up, then I am grateful. I am awake. I am alive. And I am moving forward.

I refuse to sleepwalk through this life anymore. I will live, love, and grow into the person God created me to be. And no one—not the past, not my pain, not even my own fears—will take that away from me.