Life’s storms can sometimes feel insurmountable. If we are not careful, these moments can shake the very foundation of who we are, leaving us undone and settling in ashes of the beauty that once was. This was where I found myself when we lost our daughter Sophia. Yes, I’d heard stories of infant loss, but I never imagined that we, my husband and I, would be part of that narrative. It didn’t help that her twin brother, Emmanuel, was also clinging to life at 29 weeks and was scheduled for brain surgery the next day. The 11-month NICU and pediatric rehabilitation season knocked the wind out of us. We would never be the same. Joy seemed like a figment of our imagination, and we weren’t sure if the sensation would ever return. Nonetheless, we made our way with what we had in our hands.  

Traumatic experiences have a way of exposing the cracks in our lives, the childhood trauma we never addressed, the less-than-ideal familial bonds, and the fair-weather friendships we thought we’d keep forever. For me, the trauma opened the door to my healing. I’d become so good at numbing myself that all around me were circumstances and situationships I’d settled for. I’d become okay with being the dependable, strong, supportive, and reliable one without ever requiring others to be the same for me. Yes, for me, losing my daughter exposed my “shero” complex—my deep desire to show up for the world in ways that I’d hoped someone would show up for me. The kicker? They never showed up. As my husband and I grappled with bringing home an 11-month-old child who was vent-dependent. We started the mindful journey of putting the pieces back together and rediscovering our joy. This journey was not without pain and turmoil. Still, as I write today, I am so grateful that it forced us to face one another and empty the skeletons from our closet that we didn’t even know existed. It compelled us to labor in pain for what would inevitably become joy beyond human circumstances. Yes, today I am indeed a joyful mother of two children.  

My life is imperfect and beautiful; my friendships are carefully curated, and my familial relationships lie exactly where they should be depending on the distance I feel necessary to love others without betraying myself. Many lessons were learned on this journey that I thought might be useful to you if you find yourself embarking on a similar journey. 

1. You do not need everybody. In fact, I would argue you don’t need about 75% of the people you actually think you need. A heart that sees and believes you, a shoulder to cry on, someone who lifts a box or makes a meal, a friend who shows up with good cheer. On this journey towards healing, take only what you need with you. Leave everyone else behind. 

2. Keep the things that make you light up, even when you don’t feel sparkly. For me, it was blogging and my podcast, paint nights, brunch and tea parties, picnics in the park and the beach, and being around friends who could hold space for me without gossiping about my troubles. 

3. One day at a time, one step at a time. I never thought I would find myself strong again. I thought, undoubtedly, the old me was dead. You know what? It is true indeed. While the old me is gone, I’m like the phoenix who rose the from the ashes reborn. This lady is fierce, bold, protective of what matters most, slightly more private, and happy. But I didn’t get here without crawling back until I could walk. On the days that life feels like a crawl, commit to crawling. You can try standing again tomorrow.

4. Give yourself the grace you wish the world would give you. Be the number one champion of your peace and rest. If you do not feel it in your bones, do not do it. Part of recovering from trauma is learning to trust your own voice again.

5. Healing is not a straight path. Triggers are the gifts of awareness; dig into them. I’ve learned to see triggers as a sign that I am still alive. In embracing my humanity, I am okay with peacefully sitting in my feelings. Whether these emotions lead me to therapy, my journal, or to choosing to disengage in a particular relationship seasonally or permanently, I consider healing the prize. In doing so, I open my life up to exponential good. 

There can be rainbows after storms if you give yourself permission to breathe. How will you relearn joy in your life?