“Mom, why did we stop visiting them?”
My youngest asked me this question when we got in the car after a funeral—the funeral of one of the children she had played with when she was younger.
I don’t remember what I said in response. Maybe I mumbled something vague or tried to redirect her attention. But I remember clearly how I felt.
Guilty—because I hadn’t seen the family in years.
Hurt—because I knew my youngest was hurting in this. I was hurting too, because I felt like I had abandoned my friend without explanation.
And scared—because the truth was that I had stopped visiting out of fear of my husband’s reaction.
It was one of those moments that catches you off guard, a gut punch you weren’t prepared for, even though the ache had been lingering in the background for years.
I had no words for her that day.
But I have words now.
We stopped visiting because I was afraid. Not of the people or the friendship—but of what would happen at home if I stayed too long, laughed too freely, or connected too deeply. I lived under the constant pressure to explain, justify, and preempt the next outburst. Slowly, I started withdrawing from the people who mattered most. I told myself I was being cautious. Protective. Wise. But really, I was shrinking. Disappearing.
And now, sitting at a funeral, I was face to face with a consequence I hadn’t expected: the cost of fear isn’t just ours—it ripples out to the people we love.
That question from my child still echoes in my heart. It was innocent, but it was also a mirror—reflecting what had been stolen, not just from me, but from her.
But here’s the truth I’ve had to hold onto: the past may shape us, but it doesn’t have to define us.
That day, I resolved—again—to keep healing. To keep facing the hard truths, not with shame, but with the fierce love of a mother who wants better. I can’t change what was lost. But I can live more honestly now. I can rebuild trust. I can hold space for conversations I once avoided. And I can choose to stop letting fear dictate the course of our lives.
If you’ve found yourself grieving relationships lost to fear or silence, I want to gently remind you: God restores. Even the parts of us we thought were too far gone.
“He will restore the years that the locusts have eaten…”
—Joel 2:25
If this resonates with you, take one small step toward connection today. Call a friend. Write a letter. Tell your child the truth in a way their heart can hold. Healing begins when we stop running from our stories—and start telling them with courage.
You’re not alone.
You are worthy of safety, love, and peace.
Need support? Here are some trusted resources:
- National Domestic Violence Hotline (U.S.): 1-800-799-SAFE (7233) or text START to 88788
thehotline.org – 24/7 confidential chat and resources - DomesticShelters.org – Search for local shelters and services
- Love is Respect (for younger women/teens): loveisrespect.org
Take the next right step for your healing, however small it may be. Grace meets you right where you are.
With heart and hope,
Michaela Noelle Grace
Founder of Rebuild Life with Grace
rebuildlifewithgrace.org
Rebuilding Life with Grace 
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