Pain from those closest to us cuts the deepest. It leaves wounds that feel impossible to heal and questions that seem to have no answers. A few days ago, I found myself in a dark, heavy place after another round of ugly, hard conversations with loved ones. It felt like betrayal—raw, deep, and suffocating.

I've walked a long, brutal road of healing from wounds so deep they’ve scarred over and reopened more times than I can count. As a child, the abuse at the hands of my father, that kind of evil leaves cracks in your soul that take years to even begin to understand. I've spent so long fighting against shame, anger, and heartbreak. Healing doesn’t mean pretending it never happened. It’s gathering the broken pieces and handing them to Jesus over and over again—trusting Him to do something beautiful when all I see is wreckage.

Part of healing is speaking up, refusing to be silenced.

It means holding people accountable for the hurt they’ve caused, especially when innocent children are involved.

I will protect my daughter fiercely.

I will stand firm against the darkness.

But standing up comes at a cost—sometimes it leaves me feeling more isolated, more misunderstood, and more shattered than before.

Here’s the thing: Not everyone heals the same way.

I’m a fighter.

I speak up.

I call out darkness and drag it into the light because I can’t stand the thought of others being hurt.

My family? They heal differently.

Some go silent, shut down, bury their heads in the sand and pretend everything is fine. Others lash out, get cruel, let their bitterness spill over and taint everything. Healing doesn’t look the same for everyone. But here’s what I know: It’s how we respond to that pain that matters.

Through all of this—every hard conversation, every tear, every moment spent clinging to Jesus—I am showing Luci what faith looks like. I’m showing her that our hope isn’t in people or their approval, but in a God who never leaves us. She’s watching me choose love over bitterness, forgiveness over hatred, and faith over despair. And when she sees me open my Bible and cry out to Jesus, she’s learning that He is the One who holds us together when the world tries to tear us apart.

This is faith lived out.

This is the legacy I want to leave her.

The enemy would love nothing more than for me to be swallowed up by bitterness, resentment, and despair. But my hope isn’t in getting closure or validation from others. It’s not in their acceptance, approval, or understanding. My hope is in Jesus. His truth stands steady when everything else falls apart.

It’s so easy to get lost in the "why's" of things. To let the hurt take over and make you feel unloved and unworthy. But I know better.

I know Jesus and His love.

Romans 8:28 has been my lifeline:

Even when I can’t see how, even when the pain is raw and fresh—God is working for good. Loved ones may not understand, acknowledge, or even care about my pain, but my Heavenly Father sees it all. He collects my tears, hears my cries, and offers healing that the world could never provide.

I don’t know how this will all end. I don’t know what reconciliation, healing, or restoration will look like. But I do know this: My faith will not waver. God is greater than my pain, my brokenness, and the betrayals I’ve experienced.

It’s not over. God’s story is not finished. The darkness does not have the final say.

What my dad did to all of us was dark. It was evil. But I will not let him win. I will not let Satan define us by what happened. I have the choice every day to either let it consume me, be angry, bitter, hateful, or do the complete opposite and love, show grace, and continue to do the next right thing.

Every day, I have to choose: Will I dwell on the hurt, or will I lean into Jesus and His healing? It’s not an easy choice, and some days, it feels impossible. But I am learning to surrender the pain to Him, to trust that He is working even when I cannot see it.

Friend, if you are reading this and feel like you’re drowning in hurt caused by someone close to you, know this: It doesn’t have to consume you.

Lean into the One who sees you, knows you, and loves you.

His truth is stronger than the pain.

His light is brighter than the darkness.

Hold on to Him.

He’s not finished with your story.

A Prayer for Choosing Faith Over Bitterness

Heavenly Father,

You see me. You see the hurt, the confusion, the betrayal. You see every moment I feel overwhelmed and alone. But I am not alone—You are with me.

Lord, I lay my pain at Your feet. I choose to trust You with what feels broken beyond repair. I choose to believe that You are working all things together for good, even when I can’t see it. Help me to walk in faith, to forgive when it feels impossible, and to love when it feels unnatural.

Help me to be a light to those around me, especially Luci. Let her see what real faith looks like—faith that clings to You even when life feels heavy. Let her see me run to You, cry out to You, and trust You completely.

Lord, I pray for the ones who have caused pain. Soften their hearts, draw them to You, and bring healing where there is hurt. I surrender them to You, knowing only You can heal what is broken.

Thank You for holding me through every storm. Thank You for being my strength when I have none left. Thank You for Your love that never fails.

In Jesus’ name,

Amen.