I almost let go. Life was heavy đź’”
- herstorythegatheri
- Apr 8
- 5 min read
I’m sitting here, heart open and fingers on the keys, because I need to tell you something I don’t often say out loud: I almost let go.
Real talk? Life got heavy. Not just "I have a lot on my plate" heavy, but the kind of heavy that settles into your bones and makes your soul feel tired. The kind of heavy where the air feels thin, and the "warrior" everyone thinks you are feels like she’s completely run out of fight.
If you’re reading this and you’ve ever felt like the weight of your past, your trauma, or just the sheer pressure of "keeping it all together" was about to snap you in half, I want you to know that I see you. This space, right here at Her Story: The Gathering Inc., is your safe sanctuary. You don’t have to perform here. You don’t have to smile if your heart is breaking.
Healing isn’t a straight line. It’s a messy, raw, unflinching journey of breakthroughs and battles. And sometimes, the hardest battle is just deciding to stay in the ring for one more round.
The Weight of the "Unspoken"
We spend so much time building walls to protect ourselves. We call it "strength." We call it "resilience." But sometimes, those walls become a cage. When we survive trauma, we become experts at carrying things. We carry the memories, the "what ifs," the triggers, and the expectations of everyone around us.
But here’s the truth: you weren't meant to carry it all alone.
There was a moment not too long ago when the silence in my house felt deafening, and the weight on my chest felt like a physical anchor. I was tired of the "strong woman" narrative. I was tired of the Behind the Smile mask. I almost let go of the hope that things could actually get better. I almost let go of the belief that my story had a purpose beyond just surviving the next ten minutes.
If you are in that dark room right now, listen to me: Your story is not over. The Author isn't done writing yet.
When the Night Feels Too Long
Trauma has a way of tricking us into thinking that the darkness is permanent. It whispers that we are defined by what happened to us, rather than the redemptive power of where we are going. We focus on the "beast" of our past and forget that we are reclaiming our narrative.
In those moments when life feels heaviest, it’s okay to acknowledge the pain. In fact, it’s necessary. You can’t heal what you won’t feel. We often try to rush to the "victory" part of the story, but the middle, the messy, tear-stained, "I can't do this anymore" part, is where the real transformation happens.
It’s where we realize that our faith isn’t just for the mountaintops; it’s for the valley floor. It’s where we learn that God has not given us a spirit of fear, but sometimes fear still knocks on the door, and we have to decide who we’re going to let in.
Just Breathe: Finding Your Way Back
When I was at my lowest, I realized I had forgotten how to do the most basic thing: breathe. I was holding my breath, waiting for the next bad thing to happen.
If you’re feeling overwhelmed right now, I want you to try something with me. It’s a tool for transformation, not just a clinical exercise. It’s called boxed breathing, and it’s a way to tell your nervous system that you are safe.
Inhale for 4 seconds.
Hold for 4 seconds.
Exhale for 4 seconds.
Hold for 4 seconds.
Do it again. This is you taking back control of your body. This is you saying, "I am still here."
When life is heavy, we don't need a ten-step plan. We need the next ten seconds. We need to just breathe.
The Power of the "Brain Dump"
One of the reasons life feels so heavy is because we try to organize our chaos while we’re still standing in the middle of it. When I felt like I was losing my grip, I grabbed a notebook, something like the journals we offer in our all products section, and I did a "brain dump."
I wrote down every fear, every hurt, every "to-do," and every "why me?" I didn’t try to make it sound pretty or "Christian." I made it raw. I let the ink hold the weight so my heart didn't have to.
Once it was on paper, I looked for just three things that actually mattered for that day.
Did I eat?
Did I talk to one person I trust?
Did I acknowledge one thing I'm grateful for?
Everything else? It can wait. Your healing is the priority. Your peace is the mission.
Your Story is Your Strength
I used to think my struggles were a sign of weakness. I thought that if I were "healed enough," I wouldn't have these heavy days. But I’ve learned that healing from trauma through storytelling means understanding that my scars are actually my credentials.
Your story is a lifeline. When you speak the "unspeakable," you break the power that silence has over you. This is why I wrote Interrupted Prayers. It wasn't because I had it all figured out, but because I knew that someone else was sitting in that same darkness, wondering if their prayers were even making it past the ceiling.
When we share our truth, we find each other. We realize that we aren't "crazy" or "broken", we are human, and we are surviving something that was meant to destroy us. That isn't weakness; that is unshakable courage.
More Good Days, Together
The most dangerous lie trauma tells us is that we are alone. It isolates us. It tells us that no one will understand or that our "heaviness" is too much for others to handle.
But at Her Story: The Gathering, we believe in the power of the collective journey. We believe in the strength in saying yes to support.
If you almost let go today, please reach out.
Send a text to that friend who always checks in.
Join our community newsletter to stay connected with voices of healing.
Look into our Voices of Healing book features to find stories that mirror your own.
There is a seat at the table for you here. You don't have to carry the heavy stuff by yourself. We are building a movement where stories are honored, truth is spoken, and healing begins, one "good day" at a time.
A Prayer for the Weary
If you’re at the end of your rope, I want to leave you with this:
You are loved. You are chosen. You are not a burden.
The heaviness you feel is real, but it is not permanent. Joy comes in the morning, even if the night feels like it’s lasted a year. Hold on just a little longer. Reach out your hand. There are thousands of sisters in this community ready to grab it and pull you forward.
Life is heavy, but we are stronger together.
Healing is possible.Your story matters.You are still here for a reason.
Don't let go. We’re walking this out with you.
If you are in immediate crisis or having thoughts of self-harm, please know that you are precious and your life is valuable. Please reach out to a professional crisis line or a mental health provider immediately. You do not have to fight this battle alone.
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