A few months into 40, I’ve found myself reflecting on the goodness of God. Not because life has been easy. Not because healing is complete. But because when I look back over the last four decades, I can see His hand in every chapter- even the ones that felt unbearable at the time.
I started my thirties up to my neck in trauma. But the truth is, that story began long before then. The first decade of my life was spent surviving chaos. Trauma was woven into my childhood in ways that shaped how I saw the world, other people, and even myself. My teenage years were spent living in the emotions left behind by that trauma. Fear. Anger. Shame. Sadness. Confusion. Emotions that felt far too big for someone so young to carry.
Then came my twenties. I spent much of that decade making poor decisions from those wounds. Because trauma doesn’t simply stay in the past. It follows us into everyday life. It shows up in the relationships we choose. The boundaries we don’t set. The fears we carry. The situations we tolerate. The stories we believe about ourselves.
Sometimes trauma looks like expecting the worst. Sometimes it looks like people-pleasing. Sometimes it looks like trying to control everything because uncertainty feels unsafe. Sometimes it looks like constantly proving your worth because deep down you don’t believe you’re enough.
At the time, I didn’t realize many of my choices were attempts to manage pain I hadn’t yet healed. My thirties began with my light dimmed by an abusive relationship. When it ended, it felt like something inside of me had gone out completely. I remember feeling sad for who I had become. Sad for the pieces of myself I had lost. Sad that I no longer recognized the woman staring back at me in the mirror. I spent a lot of time trying to understand how I had ended up there. The answer wasn’t simple. Healing rarely is.
It required looking backward before I could move forward. It required understanding how old wounds had shaped present decisions. It required me to stop running from parts of my story that desperately needed attention. Then, my mom died. And suddenly I found myself in a darkness deeper than anything I had experienced before. It felt like I had been thrust into an abyss. Oddly enough, though, it was a familiar place. I had been in dark places before. I knew what hopelessness felt like. I knew what despair felt like. And while I didn’t know exactly what to do, I knew what not to do.
That was the place where God met me. Not after I healed. Not after I figured everything out. Not after I got my life together. Right there in the middle of the mess. Everything in my life seemed to be unraveling. What I couldn’t see at the time was that while everything appeared to be falling apart, God was quietly putting everything into place.
Healing felt like peeling back the layers of an onion. One layer at a time. Slowly. Carefully. Delicately. Just when I thought I had dealt with something, another layer would emerge. A memory. A wound. A fear. A belief. Something I had buried so deeply I forgot it was there. And with every layer came tears.
The pain often felt just as intense as it did the day I first buried it. Honestly, you would have thought there was an actual onion sitting in front of me with the amount of crying I did. But, God. Even when I cried, I felt carried. Even when healing hurt, I knew I wasn’t alone. Even when I couldn’t see the outcome, I trusted there would be one.
Looking back now, I know I’m nowhere near done healing. I don’t think healing is something we ever completely finish. Healing isn’t linear. There are seasons of incredible growth and seasons where old wounds unexpectedly resurface. But I’ve learned to stop fearing the process. Growth is uncomfortable. Healing is uncomfortable. But neither are enemies.
Today, I welcome the work God is still doing in me because I’ve seen what waits on the other side. More freedom. More peace. More joy. More of the person He created me to be. One of the greatest miracles of this decade is something I never expected. I started my thirties convinced I didn’t want children. Not because I didn’t like kids. Because I was terrified. Terrified I would repeat the cycle. Terrified I would pass my pain onto them. Terrified I would become what had hurt me. But God has a way of redeeming the places we fear most. This decade ended with me cuddling the two beautiful boys He entrusted to me.
Motherhood has been the greatest joy of my life. It is beautiful. And exhausting. And overwhelming. And amazing. And hard. And sanctifying. It stretches me in ways nothing else ever has. Yet every day I am grateful for the privilege. When I look at my family, I see redemption. I see evidence that God is still in the business of restoring what trauma tried to steal. And somewhere along the way, another gift emerged.
My light returned. Not the version of me that existed before the pain. Something stronger. Something wiser. Something more authentic. The light that trauma tried to extinguish. The light that grief tried to bury. The light that healing slowly uncovered.
For so much of my life I was surviving. Now I am finally learning how to live. I never imagined I would have the privilege of seeing myself get here. Not just to this age. But to this age with hope. To this age with peace. To this age with a family. To this age with a sound mind.
There were seasons when I wasn’t sure any of those things would be possible. Yet here I am. Forty years old. Still healing. Still growing. Still learning. Still becoming. And overwhelmingly grateful. As I look ahead, I don’t know exactly what the next decade holds. But I know the One who does.
I am excited for what God has in store- not just for me, but for my family. I am no longer afraid to take up space. I am no longer afraid to be fully myself. I am no longer afraid to live. And if the last forty years have taught me anything, it is this: God is good. In the chaos, in the grief, in the waiting, in the unraveling, in the healing. He was good then. He is good now. And He will be good in whatever comes next. And by the grace of God, I made it. Honestly, considering some of the chapters of my story, making it to 40 with a sound mind feels like a miracle worth celebrating all by itself.
Before You Go
- What part of your story once felt like proof that you would never heal, but now reveals God’s faithfulness when you look back?
Prayer
Father, thank You for carrying us through every season, even the ones we never thought we would survive. Thank You for meeting us in our pain, walking with us through healing, and redeeming what trauma tried to steal. Help us trust You with the layers that remain and remind us that growth is evidence of Your ongoing work in our lives.
In Jesus name, Amen.