Good morning on this freezing cold morning 🥶 I hope you’re all doing well.
I wanted to talk personally for a moment. It’s been a while, and I finally sat down to go through my email and saw messages from some of you checking in on me. That meant more than I can put into words. Thank you for caring 🩷
So here’s a real update.
Honestly, I’m okay. Like many of you, I’m trying to wrap a real Christmas around my family this year. And when I say real, I don’t mean manufactured. Not rushed or shiny or forced. I mean Jesus-centered. Family-focused. Old-time, slower, simpler.
We got a real tree this year. Simple lights. Simple gifts. Movies at home. Less driving into shopping and more turning toward each other. I keep coming back to the reason we’re celebrating at all, and to the way we used to celebrate, when life felt slower and, dare I say, cheaper. Something in me is deeply craving simplicity and the realness of Jesus, and that’s it. To some people, that might look depressing. I’ll be honest though- I do think I’m carrying some depression, but not because of this. This is actually what gives me hope 🤍
The rest of life looks a little more ordinary. Adult things. Taxes. Bills. Judgments. Rumors. Then the things that never really go away – being misunderstood, mistreated, and unappreciated. Those come in certain seasons, and this has been one of them. Still, even in all the change, there have been moments I’ve loved, even if it felt like learning how to walk again.
One thing that’s changed is how I spend my Sundays. Lately, I’ve been waking up and going to breakfast with my husband, running errands, doing the things we need to do while most people are at church. It’s quieter. Less crowded. Less stressful. And honestly, it’s given us space to reconnect a little. After a year of being apart, having time to simply be together again has mattered. We’re still pretty traumatized by everything that happened. Sometimes I don’t think we fully know how to be together yet.
Living apart. Being lied to. Being schemed against. All of us – the kids, J, and me – are processing the aftermath in our own ways, and not all of them are healthy. As a mom, I feel a deep responsibility to protect the well-being of my household. Not just survive but be genuinely well in our hearts. I want my kids to be happy, healthy, loved, and to carry an inner joy that overwhelms them.
But this past year depleted them. Their solid ground cracked. What they once could always count on became shaky, and then frightening. The unknown wasn’t just outside of them – it was happening inside our home. Moving. Separation. Passive aggression. Disconnection. It took a toll on all of us, but especially on the kids. That’s the part that breaks a mother’s heart.
My marriage took a hit too. How could it not. I’ve been trying to put things back together gently, but urgently. I want that fear, that emptiness, that pain to heal. I’m trying, but it’s hard, and most days I feel like I’m doing this with my hands tied behind my back. I’m carrying my own healing, my husband’s years of trauma, and sometimes I don’t even know if he fully understands it yet. Maybe he does. Maybe he’s afraid to look too closely at it – afraid of what it might mean, or what it might say about his role in it all.
Now we’re under one roof again, learning how to be together. I’m mourning the life we had before all of this, but I also know God doesn’t waste anything. Even in the awkwardness we’re living in, I can feel Him making a way 💛
My time with God looks different now too. It’s no longer a big, polished, manufactured group experience. It’s quieter. It’s in the Word. Reading. Writing. Asking questions. Praying. Listening. Being still. Sitting with Jesus in an intimate way I’ve grown to love. I’ve always been close to God, but every season brings a deeper layer of that relationship. I’m grateful for the Father and for His love in this painful season. His love feels perfect in this very imperfect place.
This depression and hurt feel different than anything I’ve known before. It’s not deadly or life-ending – it’s isolating. It’s the exposure of cruelty and manipulation. At times it feels like a psychological operation where I’m meant to be the punchline, but the difference now is that I see it. Truly, God has been the One who has stayed by my side. Comforting me. Holding me. Loving me through the loneliness and the attacks. I am crying a lot- cleaning my heart and brain out. He’s also sent a few people to help keep me going – my sister and a few dear friends. Just when I think I can’t do this anymore, a text comes through, or a phone call, some help with my home or my kids. Those moments have meant the absolute world to me.
Learning how to live under one roof again, to consider one another, to think beyond ourselves, shouldn’t be this hard. But trauma changes things. When disconnection happens over and over again for a long time, it’s not easy to blend back into peace and harmony, or to rebuild respect and honor the way it once was.
We are taking steps back toward each other. They matter. They’re worth it. But we are not the same. And for God’s sake, we will never be the same — maybe that’s the point. Still, I believe God is in the rebuilding.
This pain is not wasted. There is a reason for this season, and I refuse to let it be for nothing. I’m depressed, yes – but it’s because I’m finally seeing some toxic patterns in myself. The ways I’ve enabled things. The ways people-pleasing has kept me tied up and tangled. I know I have to stop that, and I am working on it. Without this season, I wouldn’t see it. The deeper work – in me, in our relationships, in our home, is what God wants us to face. And I see that now. I know it. And I’m doing the work.
So, thank you for the concerned emails and private messages that have come in. I see how much people care. I see that my writing is read even when I think no one is listening, and that I am cared for even when I feel unseen. That means more than you know – and it brings me to my next point.
My website and blog are about Jesus and healing – about the ways He works in both the ordinary and the extraordinary. My posts are testimonies. While much of my writing comes from my personal life, sometimes I write more broadly to protect the lives and stories of others. Because of that, some posts may feel especially heavy or personal, and I understand how that can cause concern. Please know that not every word you read is about me alone. Some of it is. Some of it isn’t. But it is all real, unless I state otherwise. This one is about me.
Everyone’s life is different – marriage, raising kids, working, being a wife and a mother. The responsibilities we carry look different for everyone. While I may not personally relate to every story, many of these testimonies are real and have been entrusted to me. They are mine to steward, even when they aren’t mine to expose.
I want them to be shared. I want to give them a voice if I can. I believe that is part of my gift. I could be wrong, but I truly believe someone, somewhere, will connect – the way I once did. That it might help. That it might offer even a small piece of love or light right when they need it. So, I write the story and share it. But the source must be protected, because not everyone can speak the way I can or say the things I’m able to say.
Speaking up this way – through writing, videos, and creation can invite judgment. Often harsh and overwhelming. It usually comes from two places: from those who fear being exposed, and from those who resent that they themselves can’t do what you do. Envy. Jealousy. Discomfort. All of it surfaces when truth is spoken out loud. I would be lying if I said it doesn’t get to me. It does – just not the way it used to. This is a God journey for me, and I’m still human. I will make mistakes. I will fall on my face. I will feel the pressure and the hurt and need a break. Then I will keep going.
I think this is why God keeps my space small and manageable. I may roar loudly at times, but my heart is tender. I need gentleness. I need it.
So, there you have it. I am okay. And thank you again! Truly – to everyone who commented, sent a private message, or emailed. To the friends who have walked with me this year and helped my family, and especially my sister – she is a keeper. No one tells you the truth and loves you that hard while you’re battling like a sister does.
As I come toward the end of this update, I want to share a quick word about fabricthatmademe.com and what’s been unfolding there.
Some of you may have noticed that I’ve been exploring a new style of writing – historical discovery pieces that carry mystery, depth, and a reminder that the world is often far more layered than we realize. I’ve loved the research, the timelines, the digging. These stories have stretched me in new ways, and I hope you’ll give them a chance. God shows up everywhere – even in history, even in places we don’t expect.
So far, I’ve written two pieces in this space:
The American Who Walked into Moscow: The Story of Paul Tatum
and
The Crown That Found Me
Both of these were labors of love, and I poured a lot of time and care into each one.
I’ve also written more personal investigative reflections – pulling together dates, patterns, and research around the person whose deception caused so much pain. Those pieces can be found in The Long Way Home | Truth Revealed and The Long Way Home | Faith, Discernment, and Humility. They come from a place of truth-seeking, discernment, and faith – not revenge. Please read them both.
fabricthatmademe.com continues to be a space for testimony, discovery, and healing – where faith meets story, and where God is woven through both the ordinary and the unexpected.
Sk-
Woven in the Fabric
God is the same yesterday, today, and forever. He is unshakable. Thank You, Jesus, for being my solid ground in these shaky times. When we feel wobbly and out of balance, may we always remember to lean on Him. He holds us steady, offers comfort, and gives rest when we need it most. Go to Him – He will never leave you.
If this post encouraged you, I hope you’ll consider sharing it, and if you haven’t subscribed yet, I’d love for you to join us here. -Skelly
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- Fixing the Hinges on the Gate | by fabricthatmademe
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