When I Started Writing This Series
I didn’t plan to write this series. I didn’t sit down one day and think, “I’m going to share the hardest, messiest, most vulnerable parts of my life with the world.“
This series happened because I needed to process what I’ve been through—and because I know someone out there needs to know they’re not alone in their trenches.
So I wrote. I cried. I prayed. I wrestled with God. I dug up trauma I’d buried for years. I named the darkness I’d been hiding. I confessed the shame I’d been carrying.
And somewhere in the middle of writing these nine posts, something shifted.
Not everything is fixed. Not everything is healed. But something is different.
I’m different.
The Threads That Tie Every Post Together
Looking back at this series, I see the same threads woven through every post:
- Unprocessed pain doesn’t disappear—it shows up in your kids, your marriage, your mental health, and your faith.
- Diagnosis isn’t failure—it’s clarity.
- God refines us in the fire, not after it.
- Fierce love means fighting for your kids even when your hands are shaking.
- The lies we believe about ourselves are louder than the truth—until we start speaking the truth out loud.
- Friendship and church community are messy, imperfect, and sometimes painful—but isolation is worse.
- Financial crisis doesn’t disqualify you from building a legacy—it’s often where legacy is born.
- Legacy isn’t built on the mountaintop—it’s built in the valley.
- Satan may win a few rounds, but he won’t win the war.
And grace—God’s grace—is big enough for all of it.
What I Know About God Now That I Didn’t Before
Before this season, I thought God’s love was conditional. I thought if I messed up too much, if I pulled away too far, if I failed too many times, He would eventually give up on me. I thought God was punishing me for my mistakes; for leaving my job, for my impulsive decisions, for my past sins, for not being strong enough.
But that’s not who God is.
Here’s what this valley taught me:
- God doesn’t punish us, no matter what Satan whispers.
- He doesn’t keep a scorecard.
- He doesn’t withhold His love when we fail.
- He doesn’t turn His back when we pull away.
He cares about us.
He loves us, regardless of our sins, regardless of our shortcomings.
And the hardest lesson I’m still learning: I just need to put my trust in Him and relinquish control. For a control freak like me, that’s the hardest thing in the world.
But I’m learning, slowly, reluctantly, one shaky step at a time, that His plan is better than mine. That His provision doesn’t always look the way I expect, but it’s always enough. That He’s not asking me to have it all figured out; He’s just asking me to trust Him.
Proverbs 3:5-6 says, "Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths."
I’m still learning what it means to trust with all my heart. But I’m trying.
What Healed
I’m a stronger mother now. I’m properly diagnosed. I’m properly medicated. And for the first time in years, I’m able to be present for my kids instead of just surviving day to day.
Before, I was barely holding on. I did what I had to do to get through the day, but I wasn’t really there. I was a shell of a mom, going through the motions, snapping at my kids, drowning in guilt.
Now? I’m still not perfect. I still have hard days. But I’m present. I can laugh with them. I can sit with them. I can choose joy for them even when I can’t choose it for myself.
That’s healing.
My faith is slowly growing. It’s still shaky. It’s still fragile. But it’s there.
I’m learning to trust that God has me. That He won’t let me drown. That He’s putting me through this season for a reason, even if I can’t see the reason or the endgame yet.
I’m learning that faith doesn’t have to feel strong to be real.
Writing this series has been healing.
It forced me to face the trauma I’ve buried for years. It gave me a place to name the darkness, confess the shame, and speak the truth out loud.
And in doing that, I’ve found a little more freedom. A little more peace. A little more hope.
What Still Hurts
My faith and trust in God are not fixed.
I’m still working on that. I’m still wrestling with it. I’m still learning what it means to trust Him when I can’t see the way forward.
Some days I believe He’s got me. Other days, the fear creeps back in, and I find myself checking the bank account, waiting for the next crisis.
It’s going to take a while. But I’m slowly working on it.
Getting back into God’s Word has helped. Bible studies focused on weary moms have been a lifeline. Writing this series has been part of my healing process.
But I’m not there yet. And I’m learning that’s okay. Healing isn’t linear. And it doesn’t have a deadline.
How Motherhood Changed Me
I’m a more present mom now than I was before.
Before, I was just barely surviving day to day. I did what I had to do to get through the day without really being present in my kids’ lives.
Now, I’m able to show up. To listen. To engage. To be the mom they need, instead of the mom who’s just trying to survive.
I’m thankful to be properly diagnosed and properly medicated. It doesn’t fix everything. But it gives me the capacity to be present. To parent with intention instead of just reacting. To model resilience instead of just survival.
My kids are watching how I respond to this season.
And whether I realize it or not, I’m teaching them what it looks like to keep going when life gets hard. To trust God even when you’re angry at Him. To get back up after you’ve been knocked down.
That’s the legacy I’m building, not in spite of the valley, but because of it.
What I Hope You Carry Into Your Own Trenches
If you’ve read this entire series and you walk away with one thing, I want it to be this:
HOPE.
- Hope that there is a reason for this season, even if you can’t see it yet.
- Hope that God will not let you drown.
- Hope that He’s swimming right beside you with a life preserver, keeping your head above water even when it feels like you’re going under.
You are not alone in this.
No matter how alone you feel.
No matter how dark the valley is.
No matter how long you’ve been walking through it.
You are not alone.
God is with you. And so am I.
A Final Word
This series has been one of the hardest things I’ve ever written. It’s raw. It’s vulnerable. It’s messy. It’s real.
But it’s also been one of the most healing things I’ve ever done.
If you’ve read these posts and seen yourself in my story, if you’ve felt less alone, less ashamed, less broken, then every word was worth it.
You are not too far gone.
You are not failing.
You are not alone.
You are seen, you are loved, and you are held by a God who will never let you go.
And if you need a reminder of that, if you need someone to sit with you in the valley, to listen without judgment, to remind you that you’ve got this, I’m here.
Reflection Questions
- Which post in this series resonated with you most? Why?
- What part of your own story do you need to stop hiding?
- What would it look like to choose hope today, even if it’s reluctant hope?
- Who in your life needs to hear that they’re not alone?
A Final Prayer
Father, thank You for walking with me through this valley. Thank You for not giving up on me when I pulled away. Thank You for refining me in the fire instead of letting me be consumed by it. Thank You for the moms reading this who feel seen, heard, and less alone. Meet them where they are. Remind them that they are loved, chosen, and never too far gone. Give them the courage to take one step back toward You. Give them strength to keep going when everything in them wants to quit. Help us trust You even when we can’t see the way forward. Help us believe that You are working even when we can’t feel it. Help us remember that losing a round doesn’t mean losing the war. And help us carry hope into our trenches, not the shiny, Instagram-perfect hope, but the gritty, reluctant, “I’m still here, and I’m still fighting” hope because that’s the hope that sustains us in the valley. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
You’re Not Alone
If you’re reading this and you need someone to talk to—
If you need a place to cry—
If you need a mom who understands the darkness you’re fighting through—
If you need someone to walk with you without judgment and remind you that God hasn’t let go of you—
I’m here.
My inbox is open. My heart is open. My hand is open.
You can reach me anytime at danece@momleavesalegacy.com.
I will listen. I will pray. I will sit with you in the valley until you find your footing again.
Momma, you’ve got this.
And even when you don’t feel like you do—God’s still got you.
You are seen. You are loved. You belong here.
You don’t have to climb out of your valley alone.
This is the final post in the “From The Trenches” series—a raw, unfiltered look at faith, failure, and finding hope in the valley. Thank you for walking through this series with me. Thank you for letting me be vulnerable. Thank you for reminding me that I’m not alone either. 🩷💙