This Didn’t Begin as a Calling, It Began as a Crisis of Faith
And became a space where your faith and your pain no longer have to compete.
If you are here, you may be carrying a kind of grief that is not visible to others.
The kind that:
- sits heavy in your chest before the day begins
- follows you through ordinary moments, with your eye gate keeping back your tears
-
quietly reshapes how you experience life and even how you experience God
You look “fine” to everyone else.
But you know something is not okay.
You are still showing up.
Still functioning.
But underneath, something feels excruciating.
Maybe your faith feels confusing.
Maybe God feels harder to find than He used to.
Maybe you are holding questions you are not sure you are allowed to ask.
And maybe you are just… tired.
Tired of carrying it quietly.
Tired of trying to make sense of it on your own.
You do not have to carry this alone.
What I needed, but could not find
There was a kind of care my pain required, and I did not have language for it yet.
I didn’t create Between Grief & Glory from theory.
I created it from a season where everything I believed about God, faith, and healing stopped making sense.
And what I did not have then, was anyone who knew how to hold both my faith and my pain at the same time.
There was a time when I found myself in a kind of suffering I couldn’t escape.
I was raising six children—all 11 and under. I was exhausted, physically and emotionally. And behind closed doors, I was navigating a marriage that was not just difficult, but oppressive, controlling, spiritually disorienting, and beginning to turn physically violent.
I was told to submit in ways that did not reflect the heart of God… but were 'justified' using Scripture.
And I remember realizing something that felt impossible to hold:
No matter what I chose, I was going to suffer. And no one could tell me what to do with that.
I could stay, and continue watching my body break down, my spirit shrink, and my children witness it. Or I could leave, and lose everything I had.
My home.
My financial stability.
My church community: the people I thought were my family.
So I made the hardest decision of my life and in that process, I wasn’t just grieving my marriage, I was grieving the version of God I had been taught to trust. Because the same community that had been my “spiritual family” walked away from me. I was no longer seen as faithful... or even as a Christian.
And in the middle of all of that, I began to spiral into the depths of despair. I started questioning if I was even in the faith at all. I developed intense spiritual anxiety—scrupulosity that left me analyzing everything, terrified of getting it wrong.
There were days I could not get out of bed. Days I could not eat. All while still trying to care for six children who needed me. And what made it even more confusing, was that I was doing everything that the church had taught me to do.
I went to biblical counseling.
I did the programs.
I prayed for more faith.
I memorized Scripture.
I tried to “press on.”
I asked God to take it away.
But the suffering did not lift.
I thought I was failing spiritually.
Because I could not pray the same.
Because Scripture felt distant.
Because God felt harder to find.
But what I did not understand then,
is that trauma changes how your mind and body respond.
And when those responses are misunderstood,
they can leave you wondering where you are in your Christian walk, feeling like something is wrong with you…
when you are actually carrying more than you were meant to carry alone. And no one seemed to have space for that.
Most messages I heard, even in Christian spaces, were about:
Moving forward
Getting to victory
Finding purpose
Letting God “work it all for good”
But I was not there, and I could not pretend to be. What I needed was space to be honest about my pain with God. Someone to witness my suffering, and not turn their face away.
Not to rush past it.
Not to fix it.
Not to spiritualize it.
But to actually walk with Him in it and not be left alone. There was no space for this kind of experience.
And slowly, through Scripture, through lament (especially the Psalms), through learning how trauma had shaped my story in ways I did not even understand at the time, through people who expressed empathy and Jesus' heart kindly...
Something in my heart, mind, and even my body began to change, not because my circumstances changed. But my relationship to my suffering began to change. I began to see that healing was not grinding through to "pick up my cross and be made strong", nor was it about escaping pain as quickly as possible
It was about being formed—right in the middle of it. About allowing God to meet me in the places I had spent years avoiding, suppressing, or trying to rush through. To be shown how to stay with God in it in the midst of suffering.
Between Grief & Glory was born out of that realization:
That you can be deeply loved by God and still be in real, ongoing torment.
That your suffering does not disqualify your faith or from being cared for, deeply, and long term. And that you do not have to rush to resurrection to be faithfully formed. This space exists because I know what it feels like to be there.
Confused.
Grieving.
Questioning.
Alone.
And wondering why no one is talking about this part of the journey. You do not have to skip over your pain to find God. He is already present within it.
And if no one has shown you how to stay there—
I will.
Not sure where you are in this season? Start here.
How I walk with women through this
This is not a space where you are rushed to heal.
And it is not a space where your pain is explained away.
It is a space where we slow down, together.
Where you are allowed to bring what is actually there:
not just what sounds faithful,
not just what makes sense,
not just what feels acceptable.
We separate what is spiritual…
from what your body is carrying under strain.
Because those are not the same thing.
And when they are confused—
you end up calling yourself a spiritual failure…
for something your body physically cannot do differently yet.
Inside this work:
We name what feels confusing instead of avoiding it
We make space for grief that’s been carried alone too long
We help you stay with God in it—not just after it resolves
Because healing is not found in pushing through. It is found when your pain is finally understood not overridden. Healing happens when your suffering is finally allowed to be seen, understood, and held in the presence of God.
The foundation behind my work
My work is shaped by both lived experience... and formal training.
- Trauma-informed practice
- Spiritual direction
- Chaplaincy care
- Biblical counseling
But more than credentials, it is shaped by this conviction:
Healing happens where you feel safe enough to be honest—
and spiritually cared for in the middle of your lived reality.
Where grief and faith are held together
You do not have to choose between your pain and your belief.
Here, both are honored.
Faith is not something you have to perform.
It becomes something that can actually hold you—in real life.
If you are not sure where you are in this season, start here:
