About

But then some bad things happened and her world crumbled.

Everyone tried to hold the pieces together, but it was a shattered mess. Broken shards filled their palms, pieces tumbled out only to disintegrate on the ground. Large drops of blood splattered in the dust. 

She did her best to keep smiling. 

But then some more bad things happened.

An ache opened up inside her. She did her best to contain it, but it was alive, this ache. It vibrated and kicked and squirmed- threatening to burst out. Pressed down and pinned to the ground under her little body,  she tried to smother it, yet it heaved and thrashed.

Heart racing, she chained it, locked it down in the deepest part of her, determined she could forget about it, at least sometimes.

As the girl grew and got bigger, it felt easier to step on it, to force the monster to stay down, to shout at it to ‘be quiet or else!’

She would be more powerful now.

One day the girl got married and had a family. She was happy and smiled a lot. She was surrounded by a good man that cared for her and little people that loved her.

But then something happened. 

Something shook inside her. It shuddered and then burst out! It was shocking, unsettling, and confusing. Where did that come from?  

It began happening more, this rising and bursting. It was ugly. She didn’t like it. It made her scared and angry and feel powerless. How could she make this go away?  She stopped smiling as much.  She felt alone and ashamed.

Then she remembered: It was down there!

The disgraceful, writhing monster.

She’d thought it died. How could it survive this long?

Slowly opening the creaking door, she peaked down at it. A hot gust of dank air assaulted her. Something moved in the shadows. Forcefully, she slammed the door and ran away stumbling down the hall. 

She told some friends that there was something down there.

Her friends were brave.

They had fought their own monsters before. They gave her the courage to face it.  

She felt small and nervous, but she was ready, having been tormented by this dragon long enough.

So the girl went to a wise woman who had fought many dragons before. She was kind and brave, but the woman’s greatest strength was that she knew the King and she invited him to battle.

You see, the girl knew the King, too. He had won many battles for the girl. The King had slashed countless parts of the beast for her.

He confined it.

He shut its mouth.

He put His foot on its head and the girl would quickly flee to safety. 

But she never knew that the King could kill the beast!

The wise lady showed her that. Clutching her hand and following the King, she took the girl down the steps to slay the beast. As they approached the shroud of darkness, the wise woman held her close. The girl wanted to run, even while her body felt frozen. But the sage was calm and confident. She gave her weapons to fight.

They stood firm, the girl, the King, and her witness, and looked right at the beast. Into its yellow flashing eyes, into the face of shame, powerlessness, and disregard. Again, she wanted to run, to flee, to hide! Her legs were shaking, the heavy sword quivering in her hands as she held it out, vertical in front of her.

Then the King put His strong hands over hers.

She looked up into His kind eyes, and was surprised to see a shimmer of tears. She realized they were her tears reflected in His eyes, for instead of a cloak of fear, His face was set with determination.

All at once a fire ignited in His eyes.

Together, they moved forward as one and plunged the sword deep into the heart of the dragon. It screamed and flailed, yet it was pinned to the ground by the blade. One final shutter and the monster lay motionless. The King’s exhale dissolved it into the air, leaving behind a small pile of dusty scales.

A loud clang and clatter broke the silence as the sword slipped from her hands and she sank to her knees. Sobs erupted from her guts as she rocked forwarded and covered her face. Rage and grief spilled out from her depths.

The dragon had stolen so much from her, she had been captive for years, decades! Anger and regret mingled with gratitude and relief. Strong arms covered her shoulders and a gentle hand rubbed her hair as the King and her trusted companion sat with her; quiet, compassionate witnesses.

Exhausted and invigorated, triumphant and humble, the King, the girl and the wise woman emerged into the sunlight. 

The girl was smiling again. 

She felt light inside. She felt changed. She felt tender. She felt stronger.

Sometimes the girl still felt a shivering inside and sometimes things would burst out. She’d look in the basement and realize the beast wasn’t there; just a pile of scales and a gash in the floor where the sword had pierced. Breathing a sigh of relief she would remind herself the beast was gone.

It would take time- to remember, to know she was safe.

She was beginning to let light into that place, to let the King plant something beautiful and tend that part of her. It didn’t have to be closed off, dark, and painful.

New life was being resurrected.

“You have to go deep into those buried places to really find resurrection and redemption”. -Cathy Loerzel.

I’m all grown up now. I really am surrounded by a ride-or-die partner and 5 little people (although some of them are bigger than me already!)

I found myself on this journey to inner healing, therapy, wholeness, freedom, growth, self-improvement- whatever you want to call it, close to ten years ago.

I first sought out meeting with Melony, my wayfinder-story coach-mentor-friend, because I knew that I was being held back by something. I couldn’t quite place my finger on it. I knew I was having big reactions over what to some people probably looked like small issues.

I wanted to do better, be better, but I never seemed to have the self disciple or self control to make it happen. I had great intentions, but they never got me farther than a day or two (maybe even just a morning) before I found myself at the mercy of my frustrations and anger.

I was irritable.

I longed for more.

I knew I was meant for more.

I wanted more for my husband, for my children.

I also knew there were stories in my past that felt like a black smudge of soot across the pages of my life. They were pages that I would have rather ripped out, removed from the book entirely. Pages that I put out of my mind. They were in the past, surely I could just move on.

Yet it wasn’t working!

I knew I needed to talk with someone about them.

My stomach was in knots just thinking about opening my book to that chapter. 

There came a day when I was more afraid of living in the same hindered existence than I was of the fear of reliving my past, and I sought out a safe confidant. 

I called up this acquaintance. I didn’t really know if she could help me, but I knew that a close friend had talked with her about some gut wrenching things and this lady didn’t seem to get scared away. In fact, it seemed that she made it her duty to hold space for stories like that. 

I called her up and found myself in an spacious living room. She asked me a simple question: what brought you here, how can I help you?

It opened the floodgates, my words and tears drained out. I think I spoke nonstop; each story merging into another, even when there was no apparent connection. I just knew I needed to get them out of me.

Lance the sore and let the pus ooze out.

I don’t know what I was expecting her reaction to be- it was too frightening to think ahead on that at the time. What I was met with was a healing balm.

Eyes that furrowed in concern and compassion.

A face reflecting my own pain, affirming that my wounds were real, serious and needing tending, even though for years, I told myself, ‘it wasn’t that bad, it could have been so much worse’. 

I left that building with a headache and red rimmed eyes, but feeling more free than I had in a long time, if ever. A burden rolled off my shoulders. I felt confident that no matter how terrifying and exposing it was to remove my masks, I’d survived. I didn’t die. 

That day was the beginning of a journey of examining my past with a compassionate guide who pointed out lies that I was clinging to and helped me replace them with God’s truth. I was still anxious and nervous some days walking into my appointment; feeling the rawness of digging out an infected sliver.

But after I had experienced that moment of deep, inexplicable freedom, followed by joy, wrapped in peace, I knew I needed to honour the story God was writing in me. To examine where He was along the way and make sense of the moments when I felt hijacked by my emotions. 

I am deeply grateful that someone set aside time to listen and care for me; to revisit those stories with an attuned, compassionate witness, and receive what I needed at that time changed me.

And if I could be that type of witness for you? I would consider that an immense privilege and great honour.

This bring me to my current endeavour: a Narrative Focus Trauma Care student.

A Christ- centered training that nurtures my own maturing, healing, and equips me to better love the people around me.