What is the chapter of your life called when you hit a point you never saw coming?
What is it called when you’re in a space where nothing makes sense anymore?
I don’t have answers to those questions, but lately I’ve been asking them more than I’d like to admit. I always thought I would know what to call the hard parts of my story…healing, growth, maybe even becoming. But this season doesn’t feel like any of those. It feels nameless, like I’m wandering through pages that haven’t been written yet.
Everything shifted so fast. One day life felt stable, predictable even. And then suddenly, it wasn’t. I don’t even remember the exact moment the ground gave out…I just know that I woke up one day and realized nothing was the same. The things that used to make sense don’t anymore. The roles I once lived in so naturally feel foreign now, like they belong to someone else.
And if I’m honest, I don’t know what to do with that.
People love to say that everything happens for a reason. That one day you’ll look back and see the purpose behind the pain. Maybe that’s true. But right now, those words feel shallow. Right now, it feels like life just…happened. No warning, no explanation, no tidy lesson attached.
That isn’t to say that I’ve lost faith…but I am trying to figure out how to function in faith in this unknown space. How to hold on when I don’t understand what I’m holding on for. How to trust when nothing feels trustworthy. It’s a fragile, tender kind of faith—one that trembles but still refuses to let go.
Right now, I’m trying to carve out peace for my son while I’m still clawing for it myself. It feels like rebuilding from the ground up, but the ground is uneven. His anger has been showing up at school lately, and sometimes it scares me. I worry about what it could mean for him in the long run if he grows up without learning how to tame it. And the hardest part is not knowing if there’s something deeper, something in his genetic background that could explain what he’s struggling with. Without that information, I feel like I’m fighting blind, unable to help him the way he may truly need me to.
My daughter has been dealing with her own things as well, and sometimes I worry that I’m so spent trying to guide her through this new stage of life..one that I’m already familiar with…that I might be hurting her without realizing it. I don’t want to speak too much on her because some stories cannot and should not be told without the proper space and framework to honor them.
But my heart shatters daily about it.
I spent so much time trying to pave a new way for her, and it hurts to feel like the pavement caved in when I least expected it.
Motherhood has a way of humbling you like that. You fight battles in advance, praying your children will never have to walk the same roads you did. You lay down bricks from your own battles, hoping they will become a firm foundation beneath their feet. You pray that somehow their path will be smoother and when the road still cracks beneath them, you begin to question everything…your guidance, your protection, even yourself.
But I’m learning that being a generational curse breaker doesn’t mean my children will never face storms. It means they won’t have to face them alone. It means that even when the ground shakes, there will still be a mother standing beside them saying, we will rebuild here.
So maybe the pavement didn’t cave the way I thought it did. Maybe it simply revealed the places that still needed healing…for both of us. And if there is one thing I know for certain, it’s this: love is still the strongest foundation you can lay.
And then, as if life hadn’t already broken enough pieces of me, I lost my spiritual mother on September 30th, 2025. That loss shocked me in ways I still can’t fully put into words. Sometimes I still find myself waiting for her to walk through the door, half expecting to hear her voice or her laughter. Losing her feels impossible to accept. It’s like another piece of the foundation I was standing on has been taken away, leaving me wobbling and reaching for something that isn’t there anymore.
The spiritual side of me understands that she is at peace. But the human side of me..just wants her here. And that tension has been a battle.
Sometimes I catch myself wondering…will it ever make sense? Do we ever reach a point where the pieces fall into place and we finally understand? Or is life just a series of moments we try to string together into something meaningful?
I honestly don’t know.
What I do know is that this chapter feels raw. Heavy. Lonely. There’s no bow to tie it up with and no polished reflection to make it sound prettier than it really is. This is simply me sitting in the mess, trying to keep breathing.
But I’m starting to believe that maybe this chapter doesn’t need a name yet.
Maybe it’s simply the space where I learn how strong I really am…because I have no other choice. Even through heartbreak. Even through loss. Even through the ache of waiting for someone who will never walk through the door again.
I have no choice but to keep going because although this chapter is difficult, I know it isn’t the end. One thing life has shown me time and time again is that whenever I walk through something painful, something meaningful is eventually born from it.
For the past three or four years, I have been going back and forth to court with my daughter’s father. Last month, that chapter finally came to a close. And with that closing came the official birth of my movement The Empowered Mom Project.
This vision is something God truly placed on my heart through my own personal experiences—through navigating challenges with my son at school, the talking that happens, my son’s invasion of privacy at school, him being labeled the “bad” child and him really believing that he is, the feeling of being the topic of conversation when I walked into a room and it suddenly goes silent, the assumptions people still make, the anxiety of waiting for a call from the school, and the helplessness of realizing there are resources my child needs but can’t access because of an age cut off, the questions my son has that I still flinch at because how can I explain that someone he wants RIGHT now isn’t exactly here. Add to that the situations surrounding my daughter, their grief, and it became clear that this calling was being shaped through every hard moment.
It was birthed out of frustration, exhaustion, prayer, and perseverance. The heart behind it is simple: to help create a world where every mother feels equipped, valued, and capable..at home, in her community, at her child’s school, in a courtroom and even beyond. Stay tuned for more information pertaining to that.
I also want to acknowledge my absence. I know I’ve been missing in action again. The grief I’ve been dealing with honestly left me in a state of shock. For a while, I found myself afraid to make plans because of how things unfolded with my godmother. Losing her made me hesitant to move forward, almost as if making plans again meant risking more disappointment.
But even through that fear, I’m learning something important. No matter how dark it gets, there is always a light at the end of the tunnel. Otherwise, how would you even know you were in one? Somewhere ahead, there has to be a glimpse of light. Maybe you’re reading this while standing in a chapter you never asked for either. Maybe your life feels like pages have been torn out of the story you thought you were living. Maybe this chapter doesn’t have a name yet…but we’re still here to write the rest of the story.
So I will keep pushing forward.
And I pray you will too.
I also want to say thank you. The numbers I’ve been seeing on my blog over the past few months have shown me that this space is reaching people. If you were someone who visited my blog hoping for a new post, I appreciate you more than you know. If you left a word of encouragement, please know that it meant more to me than you could imagine.
I look forward to connecting with you all again soon.
With Love,
An Elegant Rose
Bloom in Grace.