As I look back on my healing journey, the thing I treasure most is Grace—the kind that wraps around you when you finally see both how far you’ve come and how far you once were from yourself.
Recently, I watched someone stuck in an unhealed trauma response. She worked endlessly—day and night—barely pausing to eat, rest, or care for herself. It wasn’t about dividing the load or asking for help; it was about meeting an invisible, impossible standard. Her worth seemed tied to how much she could accomplish. If she stopped moving, the emptiness of unworthiness and lack of acceptance might catch up to her. Her nervous system had lived in that high-alert survival mode for years.
And then it hit me: I was looking at my younger self.
As a young mother, I did the same. I married young, had four children before I turned 26, and convinced myself that “doing” for my family was the same as connecting with them. I kept the house spotless, cooked the meals, met the needs—but all the while, I was unseen. I believed if I worked harder, maybe I would be acknowledged. “If I just do this one more thing,” I thought, “they’ll finally see me.” That drive wasn’t love—it was my trauma response on full display.
I missed the mark.
I was the Martha in scripture, thinking I was serving with the heart of Mary—wrong on both counts. In truth, I was lonely. So lonely that even being used felt better than being ignored. At least if I was used, I was “chosen” for something. But you can only go so long starving your soul before it collapses. My spirit had become anorexic—terrified of true connection because the connections I knew as a child weren’t safe.
I had raised myself since I was four. If we used today’s language for my childhood, it was deep neglect. My mother sent me to church alone, hoping someone would teach me something. Instead, I learned what collective isolation felt like. I was overlooked, dismissed, and pushed aside no matter how loudly I tried to be seen.
So when I realized I had mirrored that same emotional absence with my own children, my heart broke. I neglected them—not from lack of love, but from lack of knowing how to love in a connected way. I saw my younger self and my children together in my mind’s eye, and I wept for both.
I’ve apologized to my children. My daughter, with the kindest heart, said words that I will never forget:
“That’s where our grace comes in—understanding you were a young mother just trying to figure things out.”
There was no blame—only the healing of generations. And now, our small part in that work has become a beautiful space to reside, where all our souls are fed.
Grace wrapped her arms around the young girl I was and the woman I had become. She didn’t shame me—she held me. Love and appreciation covered both versions of me.
Healing is messy. It’s not pretty. It’s uncomfortable, raw, and often painful. But the old saying rings true:
“I never said it would be easy. I said it would be worth it.”
And it is. Healing is worth every tear, every hard truth, every moment you want to run from the work—because on the other side, Grace waits.
If you feel like there’s nowhere left to turn but to stay in the muck—please know you are not alone. Reach out. Share your story. Let’s walk through the mess together and find the grace waiting for you too…jodykhill.com
#SpiritualWholeness, #jodykhill.com, #followmeformorecontent, #EmotionalWholeness, #JourneyToWholeness, #WholeAndHealed, #WholenessWithin, #BecomingWhole, #LivingInWholeness, #EmotionalHealing, #SpiritualJourney, #InnerHealing, #FindYourself, #SelfDiscovery, #ComingHomeToSelf