PART 7: When Hope Finds You in the Dark
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— The Moments That Pulled Me Back to Life
Hope is a strange thing.
Sometimes it arrives loud, like a miracle.
But most of the time?
It comes quietly.
For me, hope didn’t show up in grand gestures or perfect holidays.
It didn’t come wrapped in a bow or sung by a choir.
It found me in the simple moments — the ones I almost overlooked because I was so used to surviving that I didn’t know how to recognize healing when it knocked.
This chapter isn’t about other people’s stories.
It’s about the small turning points in my life — the moments God used to remind me that I wasn’t done yet, that my story still mattered, and that even in the darkest seasons, light has a way of reaching in anyway.
✨ The First Time Hope Found Me: When I Realized I Was Still Here
After my suicide attempt in 2011, I remember waking up and feeling two things at the same time:
Shame…
and relief.
Shame because I didn’t think I deserved another chance.
Relief because something inside me whispered,
“This wasn’t the end. You’re still needed.”
I didn’t feel healed.
I didn’t feel strong.
But I was alive.
And being alive meant there was still possibility — even if I couldn’t see it yet.
That was a flicker of hope.
A seed.
✨ When Hope Hurt Before It Healed
Hope didn’t return to me in a sweet or comforting moment.
It came through an experience that broke me even more before it began to rebuild me.
At the time of my suicide attempt, my youngest son was still living at home.
He was 19.
He didn’t know what was happening right away — how could he?
I had kept so much inside.
But the moment everything came out is one I will never forget.
I finally confided in a nurse practitioner at a doctor’s appointment.
I didn’t go in planning to say anything.
I didn’t feel brave or strong.
I just… cracked.
And once the words came out, the rest moved fast.
The authorities were contacted.
The police showed up at my door.
They handcuffed me.
They placed me on a 72-hour hold.
It was one of the most humiliating and heartbreaking moments of my life.
I felt exposed, overwhelmed, and completely alone.
What was already painful suddenly became public.
It felt like insult added to deep, private injury.
And then came the part that shattered me even more —
my son’s reaction.
He was angry.
Hurt.
Confused.
Disappointed.
And as much as that stung, I understood it.
He didn’t have the tools to process what was happening.
He didn’t know what to do with the fear of almost losing his mother. He only knew it felt like betrayal and abandonment.
But as his mother…
hearing his disappointment nearly crushed me.
For a moment, it made me wonder why I was even still here.
It made me question everything.
It made me feel like a burden instead of a blessing.
And the truth is…
I didn’t have anyone to talk to about it.
No safe place to unravel.
No support to lean on.
Just silence.
And shame.
And a heart that felt too heavy to carry.
But even in that painful, humiliating, lonely moment…
God was not done with me.
That wasn’t the end of my story.
It was the turning point.
Because as painful as that season was,
it forced me to get honest,
to get help,
to face my wounds,
to confront my pain,
and ultimately —
to begin healing in ways I didn’t know were possible.
My son’s reaction didn’t break me.
It woke me up.
It reminded me that my choices didn’t just affect me.
They rippled through the people I loved most.
And as hard as that realization was,
it became one of the reasons I chose to live differently.
Not perfectly.
Not instantly.
But intentionally.
With truth.
With courage.
With healing.
With hope I never saw coming.
✨ When Hope Showed Up Through My Brother’s Memory
Losing my baby brother shook me in ways I still don’t have the right words for.
Grief changed the texture of my holidays, my family identity, my heart.
But somewhere in the middle of that grief — between the tears, the numbness, the anger, the “Why him?” questions —
I felt a shift.
I didn’t want his story to end in pain.
I didn’t want mine to either.
I wanted to live in a way that honored him.
And that became a new kind of hope.
A hope that looked like purpose.
A hope that looked like legacy.
A hope that eventually became 7 Semicolon Couture, and every piece of advocacy, writing, feeding, serving, and lifting others up that I now pour myself into.
Hope didn’t erase the loss.
But it gave the loss meaning.
And sometimes, meaning is what keeps us breathing.
✨ When Hope Showed Up in My Healing Work
Healing didn’t come quickly for me.
It came in layers, little by little, over years.
It came through:
setting boundaries
telling the truth
therapy
prayer
choosing peace instead of familiar chaos
forgiving myself
forgiving others
learning why I reacted the way I did
breaking generational patterns
letting myself rest
letting myself feel
Hope didn’t show up in one big moment.
It showed up in a hundred little ones — each one reminding me that I didn’t have to live in survival mode forever.
✨ When Hope Showed Up Through Helping Others
Something happened when I started sharing my story publicly —
people started reaching out.
People hurting.
People grieving.
People battling suicidal thoughts.
People feeling alone in rooms filled with holiday lights.
Every message reminded me:
My survival wasn’t just for me.
My healing wasn’t just for me.
My story wasn’t just for me.
Hope expanded when I saw that the things that almost broke me
were the things God would use to help someone else breathe again.
There’s nothing more powerful than hearing,
“Your story helped me stay.”
“Your words brought me comfort.”
“I thought I was the only one.”
Serving others became part of my own healing.
And that’s hope — a living, breathing hope that grows when shared.
✨ A Spiritual Anchor
“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”
— John 1:5
Darkness tried to take me out more than once.
But it didn’t win.
It couldn’t.
Because God kept finding me — in the cracks, in the tears, in the quiet moments, in the grief, in the rebuilding.
Hope wasn’t something I created.
Hope was something God placed back into my hands every time I felt empty.
✨ If You’re In a Dark Season… This Is For You
Hope doesn’t always feel like joy.
Sometimes hope looks like:
“I showed up today.”
“I didn’t give up.”
“I told someone the truth.”
“I’m trying again.”
“I’m giving myself grace.”
“I’m choosing healing even when it hurts.”
If you’re still here —
you already chose hope.
You don’t have to feel strong to be strong.
You don’t have to feel healed to be healing.
You don’t have to see the future to move toward it.
And if you share your story someday?
It might become the hope someone else has been searching for.
✨ Share This If You Know Someone Who Needs Hope
Someone out there needs to know:
their story isn’t finished
and their darkest season can still lead to their brightest purpose.
If this chapter spoke to you,
share it with someone who needs the reminder that hope is still possible…
even here,
even now,
even in December.