March: Heartbreak, Healing, and Honesty

We’ve made it to March—and that feels like something worth celebrating. It’s the last of my month-long reflections before Life Lately shifts into a weekly rhythm in April.

So, March…

March was full.

Full of firsts.

Full of lessons.

Full of ache.

Full of alignment.

Full of honesty.

It started with joy—buying my first car, a big step, a gift to myself and for my loved ones. But shortly after, life hit hard. My relationship came to a crossroad. And that cracked something open. I found myself aching deeply, but for the first time, I reached out. I asked for help. I texted my therapist. I prayed. I cried. I woke up at three and four in the morning with words to God, not always pretty, not always polished, but they were real. And it changed something. March was a mirror—one I couldn't look away from.

What I’m Learning

This month felt like a year—but maybe that’s what happens when life becomes a classroom and you finally stop running from the lesson.

In this season, where healing has no timeline. It also doesn’t arrive neatly wrapped with a “you’re good now” bow. It’s not always linear. It’s not always loud. Sometimes healing is being woken up at 4 a.m. in the dark, cold stillness of the morning—while everyone else is asleep—just to silently cry. Then, you find yourself praying, and worship at the Lord’s feet because you don’t know what else to do with the ache. And then one day, it looks like smiling again. And this time, meaning it.

I’m learning that grief and gratitude can sit side by side. That missing someone doesn’t cancel out your growth. That tears and thanksgiving can fall in the same breath. That Christ can be present in both.

I’m learning that letting go doesn’t mean giving up—it’s recognizing what’s not mine to fix or carry. It’s saying, “God, lead and I’ll follow.”

I’m learning that I must close the door to who I was before—that version of me that clung to the past like armor—held on to pain like it was protection. Now, it is keeping me stuck.

I’m reminded of the story of Lot’s wife in Genesis 19:26—how she looked back and was turned into a pillar of salt. Stuck. Paralyzed by a past she couldn’t release. I don’t want that for myself.

So piece by piece, I began to drop the weight. I began to surrender. I honor her—for surviving. But. I’m not here to merely survive. I’m here to walk with Christ, to spread God’s word, and to love him because his Son went through all of that pain for us. And I’m learning that surrendering is all he asks of us.

Allergist Appointment in March.

I’m learning that leaning on my own understanding doesn’t just exhaust me—it disconnects me. From peace. From purpose. From Jesus. I don’t want to keep running ahead of Him. I want to walk with Him.

I’m learning that I can pray through the pain, not just after it. That healing won’t always roar—sometimes it just whispers: We’re getting there.

And the most important thing? Jesus isn’t waiting for me at the end of my healing. He’s not standing at some distant finish line, arms crossed. He’s right here—in the ache, in the stillness, in the middle of the mess.

And I can count on him.

I can run to him.

He won’t leave me in the rain feeling unwanted. He sees my brokenness and accepts me. I can sob in his arms. I can bring him my burdens. I can show up with my scars and He will meet me, us all, with love.

I’m learning to choose faith over feelings

Until I no longer feel lost in myself—

but grounded in Him.

What Faith is Showing Me

“Yet you, Lord, are our Father. We are the clay, you are the potter; we are all the work of your hand.”

Isaiah 64:8 (NIV)

What We’re Working On

We’re working on my character — the parts of me that show up when no one’s watching.

We’re working on my heart — softening it, healing it, strengthening it so I love from a place of truth, not fear.

We’re working on my feet — where they walk, how they follow, how they stay in step with where Jesus is leading me.

We’re working on my faith — not just the kind I speak about, but the kind I stand on, even when it’s quiet, even when it aches.

We’re working on trusting God’s timing instead of forcing my own.

We’re working on asking for help instead of pretending I don’t need it.

We’re working on releasing the old me so I can make room for who God is shaping me to be.

Not perfectly, but intentionally.

Not hurried, but holy.

We’re working — and I’m grateful He’s patient with me.

What We’re Building

We’re building a life.

Not just any life — a life anchored in truth and grace.

A life where I don’t have to perform to feel purposeful.

Where peace isn’t a prize I earn, but a promise I walk in.

We’re building a life where healing is welcomed and honesty is home.

Where I don’t have to carry everything or fix everyone to feel valuable.

Where love is visible through the fruits I bear.

Where my words, my work, and my walk reflect Christ — even in progress.

We’re building a life that grows slowly, deeply.

One where faith leads and feelings follow.

Where becoming is sacred, not rushed.

We’re building a life —

A life where my character, my heart, my feet, and my faith are in His hands.

And brick by brick, moment by moment, grace by grace —

We’re getting there.

What I’m Listening To/Consuming

Music has always held space for my emotions, but this month—it exposed them.

There was a morning in March that shifted something in me. I was on my way to work, crying, already overwhelmed. I started flipping through songs, trying to distract myself. But every upbeat, happy song felt… wrong. Not just off. Irritating. Like my body was rejecting joy because my spirit was too weighed down. And that was the moment I realized: This isn’t just sadness—this is spiritual.

That’s when I landed on “Your Way’s Better” by Forrest Frank—and I didn’t press skip again. I just let it play. I mouthed the words. I drove in silence except for the song and my own surrender. And by the time I pulled into work, I wasn’t crying anymore. I still felt the ache, but I wasn’t tethered to the sadness. That song, and the presence of Christ in it, shifted my atmosphere.

That moment became my reset.

During this month I listened to:

• Leon Thomas - Mutt

• Teddy Swims - Northern Lights

• Karri - Oakland Pt. 2

What’s Coming Up

I don’t know.

But.

I pray that the Lord continues to shape me— gently, purposefully, faithfully.

Because suffering happens to everyone. No one walks this earth untouched by ache. But even in the aching, I know that I’m not alone.

So, I remain faithful. Even through the cracks. Even through the bumps in the road. Even when I don’t understand.

No matter what comes, He prepares me. He makes me ready.