Depths of the Sea

If I make my bed in the depths, You are there.”
— Psalm 139:8 (NIV)

That feeling. That thought. That deep emotion that instantly takes you to your secret place.

The place you go to escape — to not exist, to not feel. The place you only visit in desperate moments, when reality feels heavy, hopeless, breathless. A place that somehow feels both lifeless and powerful as you control each breath, taking in the oxygen your body so desperately craves.

It’s like sitting at the bottom of a vast body of water, drowning out everything in existence except the steady rhythm of your own breathing. Time freezes. The noise you’re escaping slowly fades into the distance while you soak in the silence, the darkness, the serenity of nothingness.

As the oxygen begins to dissipate, everything in you longs to stay there — alone, silent, suspended, lifeless.

Then, in a single moment, comes the gasp. Fresh air floods your lungs. Life rushes back in. Reality hits like a brick.

And it’s in that moment you realize something powerful: you were still in control of your chaos.

That brief glimpse of nothingness — the stillness you longed for — was given for only a moment. And as your lungs refill, you’re reminded of the gift of life… the miracle of breath.

It is in moments like this that I truly appreciate life. The awareness that tomorrow is never promised. The understanding that my time here on earth rests fully in the hands of my Master.

These moments bring clarity — a deep appreciation for breath, for choice, for life itself. Even in the darkest places, God’s mercy and grace never fail. They sustain me. They call me to choose Him. To choose life in the chaos.

And even when it feels like there is no way forward — only the deep darkness of a silent sea — He walks with me through every weary step of my journey. Even in the deepest, darkest waters.

One of my go-to encouragement songs says:

“And I’ll testify of the battles You’ve won,
How You were my portion when there wasn’t enough.
And I’ll testify of the seas that we’ve crossed,
The waters You parted, the waves that I’ve walked.”

In my deepest moments of desperation — at the bottom of what feels like an endless sea — God parts the waters. He gives breath to my lungs and strength to walk the waves once again.

It is only through complete surrender that I release control and hand my battles over to Him.

You will face battles. You will suffer moments of desperation. You may even feel as though your time on this earth should end.

Let this be your reminder: breathe. Just breathe.

There is a God who sees you, hears you, and fights for you. A God who parts waters, restores breath, and gives strength to rise again. Even when you feel buried in the depths of the sea, He fills your lungs and leads you back to the surface.

Put your faith in Him.
Allow Him to be your breath.

Longing for Home

As I sit here in the chaos of life… love… and marriage, my mind drifts back to the past. I lived a life of deep fulfillment as a child—truly the best life. A life any child would long for. I was raised by the most loving Christian parents, in a small town, living a country life on a farm at the end of a long gravel drive.

I lived carefree, spending my days outdoors—swimming in the pond, walking through the woods to the waterfall that became my place of serenity. Winters were warm and comforting, centered around a massive fireplace. I would nestle under a blanket my mom had warmed by the fire, hot cocoa in hand after long days of sledding, snowball fights, ice skating on the pond, and hours of fort building. While some people dreaded the cold, dreary winters, they held some of the happiest days of my life.

Home cooking, gardening, and sitting on the porch swing breaking beans and shucking corn with my mom, grandma, and older sister brought such joy to my heart. And the clubhouses in the barn lofts—oh, the hours spent outdoors making memories that truly last a lifetime. When I think of happiness, I think of home. Home is where my heart is. It’s not just a place—it’s a feeling. A deep sense of belonging. A love so secure it felt like the safest place on earth.

Marriage should feel like home. It should be the one place where you feel safe, secure, loved, seen, and heard. Home has no boundaries—it welcomes you back no matter the distance traveled or the mistakes made along the way. But often, relationships are built on fragile foundations or endure so much trauma and heartache that “home” begins to feel unreachable.

This is the quiet reality many PTSD wives live with—long years of suffering alongside the one who once was your home. We find ourselves longing for home again, yearning for that place where we feel secure, loved, connected, seen, and safe. Do you ever feel that ache? That deep longing for a conversation, intimacy, or simply the warmth of being wrapped in a blanket by that childhood fireplace?

You are not alone. This is a place many PTSD wives find themselves—a lonely place that, in our most desperate moments, can only be filled by our Heavenly Father. In those moments, let God be your dwelling place—your “home.” When the earthly home you long for feels distant or broken, He remains constant, steady, and near. His presence becomes the refuge where your heart can rest, where you are seen, known, and held, even when everything else feels uncertain.

My desire is to help bridge the gap between your loneliness and home. To be an ear that listens and a voice of encouragement when it is needed most.

How do you navigate the longing for “home”? Do you wish you had a support group of wives walking the same road to help ease the silent suffering? Share in the comments—what do you struggle with most?

“Lord, You have been our dwelling place throughout all generations.”
— Psalm 90:1

When Loneliness is Loud

You know those moments—hours, days, or even weeks—when the noise in your mind keeps you from just about everything you should be doing, praying, or even thinking? I often find myself whispering, “Silence the noise in my mind, Lord… please silence the noise in my mind.” All I really want is complete stillness. Maybe—just maybe—in that silence I could hear the small, sweet voice of my God in the middle of chaos and desperation.

The enemy loves to use loneliness as a tool. He uses it to make you feel like you are the only person on this entire planet who feels the way you do, who suffers the way you do. But when I lay my head down at night, God gives a peace that is indescribable and gently reminds me that I am not alone. I know that somewhere out there are hundreds, thousands—maybe even hundreds of thousands—of PTSD wives who feel alone, defeated, and abandoned.

We were not created for loneliness; we were created for companionship. A companionship meant to last a lifetime—one that grows deeper with love as each day passes. If you are a PTSD wife, you know your marriage has been robbed of the “happily ever after” you dreamed of as a little girl. It suffers in ways only those who have lived it can understand. It brings a loneliness into our lives that we never imagined possible. And when that companionship slips further and further away, we can become lost in the loneliness and begin to lose hope in the promises we were once given.

That is why I created this blog—not only to bring hope to those who are hurting, but to remind you that you are not alone. This is a safe place to share your thoughts, your hurts, and your heart. A place to connect with a community of sisters who truly understand—without judgment. Please don’t be afraid to comment, vent, ask questions, or even share a prayer request.

We are in this together.

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” — Psalm 34:18