The past eight months have been a whirlwind—physically, mentally, and emotionally. Since the end of November, my husband and I have navigated some of the biggest transitions of our lives. We signed contracts to sell our home and build a new one, purged over 75% of our belongings, and spent countless hours cleaning, packing, donating, selling, and ultimately loading the rest of our life into a 7x12x20 pod. On New Year’s Day, we officially cleared out of our home.
The very next day, I underwent surgery to have a spinal cord stimulator implanted in hopes of easing the relentless neuropathic pain in my feet and lower legs.
What I didn’t fully realize at the time was how much the literal clearing out of our stuff would also stir up a flood of emotional and mental weight. Letting go of belongings wasn’t just a physical task—it was a deeply personal and, at times, overwhelming journey. Sorting through years of memories, deciding what to keep and what to release, and facing the reality of so much change all at once brought a heaviness I hadn’t anticipated. Downsizing wasn’t just about the tangible things—it was about making peace with a season that was ending and stepping into the uncertainty of what’s ahead.
We entered into a season of waiting, living in a bedroom at my parents’ home until our new house was complete. I was—and still am—grateful beyond measure for the temporary space and for my Mom and Dad who opened their arms to us. But the transition was anything but easy. The chronic pain continues to be a constant battle, despite over ten years of treatments and the surgery in January. I haven’t lost hope, but some days I’m just plain exhausted—physically, emotionally, spiritually—from the daily struggles compounded by that pain.
And it wasn’t just the physical pain. It was the anxiety that sneaks in without warning. The quiet but persistent sadness tied to family concerns. The emotional toll of being a Guardian ad Litem and carrying the weight of others’ suffering—bearing witness to heartbreaking situations that often felt too big for one heart to hold. It was also the lingering body image struggles, triggered by careless words from a doctor I stopped seeing over a year ago.
I’ve attended therapy off and on the past couple of years. In all of it, I discovered what I truly needed was space—space to breathe, to process, and to figure out how to care for myself in the midst of so much heaviness.
Most days, I felt overwhelmed. Life felt loud and chaotic, and in the still moments, I realized—really realized—I could not keep running on empty.
I am faithful and blessed. I am strong and weak—all at the same time. And I was worn out.
So I gave myself permission to step away from some things, to ask for help, and to let go of what no longer served me. I chose what was best for me and for my healing. One of those incredibly difficult but necessary decisions was stepping away from my role as a Guardian ad Litem. I had poured my heart into that calling for years, but I knew—after much prayer, reflection, and tears—that it was time. Not only was it best for me, it also created space for circumstances to settle and allowed room for positive change to emerge for the families involved. Sometimes, stepping away is not giving up—it’s giving space for those same families to be on the receiving end of what God wants someone else to give.
Another tender decision was stepping away from our parish small group. My husband and I both felt the Spirit’s gentle urging. We trusted God was guiding us, even in the waiting. Even when the letting go was painful.
I decided to share all of this because I know none of us walk the exact same road. But maybe—just maybe—you’ve also felt overwhelmed. Maybe you’ve been holding too much. Maybe you’ve been afraid to pause.
If that’s you, hear this: It is okay to rest. It is okay to take a step back. It is okay to care for yourself with the same gentleness you offer others.
So I leave you with this:
Where in your life do you need to say no?
Where have you been pushing through when what you really need is rest?
Where have you abandoned yourself to show up for everyone else?
Maybe today is the day to return to your own heart. Maybe it’s time to give yourself the grace to breathe.
These are the questions I’m still asking myself. And with the encouragement and support of those who love me, I am finally beginning to make room for healing. Not perfection. Not performance. Just honest, quiet healing.
And maybe today, you can take a small step toward that too.
theheARTofkimmy 