Soul-fully Mine

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Soul-fully Mine A soft space to land after the storm. Healing from abuse, mental illness, and grief. First, I tell my story. Then, I hold yours.

Soul-fully mine… and someday, soul-fully yours.

I’ve been sharing some of the darkest chapters of my story lately. And I know it’s heavy. Believe me, I know.But I don’t...
10/11/2026

I’ve been sharing some of the darkest chapters of my story lately. And I know it’s heavy. Believe me, I know.

But I don’t want you to mistake the chapter I’m sharing for the life I’m living today.

Right now, you’re hearing about my Saturday. The grief. The darkness. The silence.

But Sunday? Sunday changes everything.

And we’re not there yet. 🖤

“And I am certain that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished…” Philippians 1:6 (NLT)

Stay with me. God’s not finished telling this story. ❤️

TW: SA And I didn’t tell anyone.Not because it was okay. Not because I’d changed my mind. And certainly not because I’d ...
10/10/2026

TW: SA
And I didn’t tell anyone.

Not because it was okay. Not because I’d changed my mind. And certainly not because I’d consented.

The truth is, sexual abuse wasn’t new to me.

I’d experienced years of abuse, coercion, and situations where saying no didn’t feel like an option.

I’d been r***d before. I’d reported it before.

And instead of being protected, I’d been treated like the criminal during the investigation.

I’d learned what could happen when I spoke up. I’d learned that telling the truth didn’t guarantee being believed, protected, or helped.

So when it happened again, I froze.

And afterward, I stayed silent.

I laughed. I joked. I ate breakfast with the person who r***d me.

I tried to make everything feel normal because I desperately wanted it to be.

For years, I questioned myself for that.

But I understand something now that I couldn’t understand then.

I wasn’t consenting. I was surviving.

This Cornell case has been sitting incredibly heavy with me because, 20 years ago, I was Jane Doe.I was r***d by someone...
10/02/2026

This Cornell case has been sitting incredibly heavy with me because, 20 years ago, I was Jane Doe.

I was r***d by someone I knew and trusted. A coworker. Someone I considered a friend.

I said no.

And then I froze.

I didn’t scream. I didn’t fight. I didn’t move. I couldn’t.

I remember my head repeatedly hitting the visor of his car. Twenty years later, that detail is still painfully vivid. I focused on the pain in my head because it gave my brain somewhere else to go. Something else to feel instead of what was happening to the rest of my body.

Afterward, in shock, I hugged him goodbye. Then I went back into work, locked myself in a fitting room and sobbed.

For years, those details made me question myself. Eventually, they became details other people used to question me too.

But they weren’t consent. They were survival.

I reported my r**e. I endured a r**e kit that night. I talked to police. I answered the questions. I went through the investigation. I did everything we tell survivors they’re supposed to do.

And it still wasn’t enough.

I was asked if I was sure. My trauma responses were scrutinized. Eventually, the prosecutor declined to pursue my case.

Nearly 3 out of 4 r**es and sexual assaults are never reported to police. I understand why in a way I desperately wish I didn’t.

Because I did report.

And I still walked away without justice.

R**e culture teaches us to turn the questions inward. Maybe I misunderstood. Maybe I should’ve fought. Maybe freezing made him think it was okay. Maybe I was asking for it.

No.

Freezing is not consent. Silence is not consent. Shock is not consent. What a survivor does afterward does not rewrite what happened.

More than 1 in 5 women in the U.S. have experienced completed or attempted r**e.

This is not rare.

Twenty years later, I can finally say this without immediately feeling like I need to provide evidence:

I know what happened to me. I was r***d.

I don’t need to defend the way my body survived it.

For every Jane Doe wondering if anyone actually hears her:

I hear you. Survivors deserve to be heard.

We have to do better.
, , , , **eCulture

That last text looks so ordinary.“Hey gonna miss work the next few days at least.”I sent it at 7:14 AM on September 25, ...
09/29/2026

That last text looks so ordinary.

“Hey gonna miss work the next few days at least.”

I sent it at 7:14 AM on September 25, 2016.

I was going to the hospital because I was suicidal.

I’ve spent a ridiculous amount of time digging through my old camera roll lately, trying to piece together this version of myself. I expected the pictures to look darker. Like surely I would be able to see how lost I was.

Instead, I found this.

A baby strapped to me. A toddler who considered midnight a perfectly reasonable bedtime. 😂 Family days and boat rides. My kids laughing. Me laughing. Work. Ordinary days.

I found a mom who kept doing all the things she was supposed to do.

I don’t remember seeing much of that then.

I remember the depression. I remember being tired in a way sleep couldn’t fix. Going through the motions and taking care of everyone else while having no idea how to take care of myself.

I was a good mom.

I just wasn’t very good to me.

At 3:39 AM on September 25, I saved the words:

“There’s another world inside of me that you may never see.”

I think I meant the darkness.

Ten years later, I see another meaning.

There was another world there.

Joy. Laughter. Love. Tiny arms around my neck. Ridiculous middle-of-the-night moments. Days on the water. Children who knew they were loved.

There was so much life around me while depression convinced me there wasn’t much life left for me.

And because I’ve always been the person with a camera in her hand, I have proof. ❤️

I photographed a life I couldn’t fully see while I was living it.

Today, through the lens of faith and healing that came much later, I can see what she couldn’t:

The darkness was real, but it wasn’t the whole frame.

Less than four hours after saving that quote, I texted work.

What I didn’t tell them was that I didn’t trust myself to stay alive.

So I went to the hospital.

And that’s where I’m leaving this part of the story.

She didn’t know what came next.

She just knew she was lost. ❤️

I underlined these words before I knew how badly I would need them.Last night I was ugly crying to God about my mom. She...
09/29/2026

I underlined these words before I knew how badly I would need them.

Last night I was ugly crying to God about my mom. She isn’t doing well, and there are things happening right now that feel much bigger than anything I know how to carry.

I felt scared.

Helpless.

And so incredibly alone.

While I was praying, I felt prompted to put aside my normal reading for a moment and turn to Scripture simply for comfort.

So I grabbed this little heart I had been gifted.

Out of everything written on it, one phrase immediately stood out:

Never Alone.
Matthew 28:20.

So I turned to Matthew 28.

And there it was.

A passage I had already highlighted during my internship.

And long before last night, I had specifically underlined:

“And surely I am with you always.”

That broke me all over again.

Because sometime in the past, I dragged my pen underneath a promise that the version of me sitting there last night desperately needed to find.

I didn’t know then.

But God did.

Last night He didn’t give me a map of what happens next. He didn’t suddenly make everything easy or take away everything that hurts.

He simply reminded me:

You are not doing this alone.

And last night, that was enough.

Never alone.
Not then.
Not now.
Not in whatever comes next. ❤️

Happy Fall Kickoff Weekend! 🍂🏈🌭The sun was shining, the grills were FULL, and Heritage apparently took ‘feeding the floc...
09/27/2026

Happy Fall Kickoff Weekend! 🍂🏈🌭

The sun was shining, the grills were FULL, and Heritage apparently took ‘feeding the flock’ a little literally.

Such a fun Sunday getting to capture a little bit of the community that makes this place feel like home.

But the important question is…

Did YOU get your hot dog?! 🌭👀

Sometimes I look at the woman in that first photo and my heart absolutely breaks for her.That was 2017. I was sitting ou...
09/24/2026

Sometimes I look at the woman in that first photo and my heart absolutely breaks for her.

That was 2017. I was sitting outside a psychiatric hospital, about to check myself in.

I was so deeply lost that I genuinely could not imagine my life getting better. I couldn’t see the family photos. I couldn’t see myself laughing freely again. I couldn’t see purpose or peace or a version of me who actually wanted to be here.

I definitely couldn’t imagine a life where I would know God, love Him, serve Him, and look back at that woman with this much tenderness.

But God could see her.

And I think that’s the part that gets me now.

He knew what I couldn’t know yet.

He knew the marriage wasn’t over.
He knew my family still had chapters left to write.
He knew joy would come back.
He knew I would create again, dream again, love deeply, serve, heal, and actually feel at home in my own life.

It didn’t happen overnight. Finding Jesus didn’t magically erase depression, trauma, fear, or years of healing that still needed to happen. There were a lot of dark days between that photograph and this life.

But somewhere along the way, surviving turned into living.

And living turned into wanting to live.

Now I look around sometimes and think… I almost missed this.

This ordinary, beautiful, messy life.

My husband. My babies. My faith. My art. My ridiculous amount of hobbies. 😂 The work I get to do. The people I get to love. The opportunity to pour out some of what God has poured into me.

I thought my story was ending.

God was still writing.

So if all you can see right now is the chapter you’re standing in, stay.

There are pages you haven’t read yet. 🤍

You’re still here.
After everything.

That’s not nothing.
That’s everything.

Made for Him. 🤍Starting a new six-week Bible study with Holy Girl Habits Co., and I’m genuinely excited for this one.We’...
09/16/2026

Made for Him. 🤍

Starting a new six-week Bible study with Holy Girl Habits Co., and I’m genuinely excited for this one.

We’ll be working through Made for Him by The Daily Grace Co., reading a little each day and then meeting together weekly on Zoom. Different women, different lives, different stories, all intentionally making space to slow down and meet with Jesus.

I love that faith doesn’t have to look polished to be real. Sometimes it looks like an open Bible, a half-finished cup of coffee, a notebook full of questions, and choosing to show up anyway.

So for the next six weeks, that’s what I’m doing. Showing up. Reading. Learning. Listening. Making room for Him in the middle of ordinary life.

And maybe that’s what being “made for Him” looks like in practice. Not having it all figured out, but continually turning our hearts back toward the One who made us. 🤍

Here we go. Week one. 📖✨

09/12/2026

There were chapters I begged God to end because I couldn’t see how I was going to make it through them.

Now I look back and realize He was still there in every page. Even the ugly ones. Even the ones I would’ve skipped if I could.

I’m still learning that sometimes the evidence isn’t that life got easier.

It’s that I’m still here. Still growing. Still becoming. 🤍

09/11/2026

She was losing her mind.

And somehow, she just kept skating.

I was broken. Exhausted. Running on caffeine, trauma, stubbornness, and coping mechanisms that definitely would not make the recommended list.

And I kept pouring myself into roller derby like maybe if I just skated harder, stayed busier, pushed further, I wouldn’t have to stop long enough to realize how badly I was falling apart.

Derby didn’t break me all by itself. But that season of my life was toxic, and I was sacrificing pieces of myself trying to survive it.

And still…

I showed up.
I skated.
I laughed.
I cried.
I fell apart.
I got back up.

Until eventually, I couldn’t anymore.

That last photo is me smiling outside the hospital after being discharged.

She thought her story was ending.

It was actually the beginning.

Turns out you can be completely broken and still be becoming. 🤍

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