This week nearly broke me.

My okdest son is discovering the weight of being a man in the world. 

My youngest is struggling and making choices that keep me awake at night.

Bills are piling up, work is demanding, and my anxiety has been louder than ever.

I had a large wedding cupcake order to complete, and every dollar mattered.

I was already carrying too much when I ruined a batch of frosting because my mind was racing about everything that could go wrong.

The next day I started over; the frosting turned out fine, the cupcakes were beautiful.

The orders were completed.

From the outside, it looked like I was handling everything. Inside, I was drowning, then, as though I needed a 13th reason, I cut my hand while doing dishes.

Standing alone in my kitchen, in pain, exhausted, overwhelmed, and scared, I had one of the biggest meltdowns of my adult life.

Not the quiet tears I usually cry, or the strong version of me everyone knows.

 

This was little Nicole.

 

The little girl who has always felt like she had to figure it out. The little girl who learned to survive; the one who never wanted to need anybody.

 

I screamed. I cried. I broke down. 

And maybe that’s exactly what needed to happen, because somewhere between the stitches, the exhaustion, and eventually the bronchitis diagnosis that followed, I realized something.

I’ve spent a lot of years believing life was happening to me.

I’ve worn anxiety like an identity.

I’ve carried strength like an obligation.

I’ve treated survival like a personality trait.

 

But God has been trying to teach me something different.

The injury stopped the baking.

The illness stopped the hustle.

The doctor’s note stopped the pressure.

 

Everything that felt like a setback was actually forcing me to rest, and for the first time, I wondered if God wasn’t punishing me with challenges.

Maybe He was preparing me.

On the drive home from urgent care, my son and I  drove through some back streets and saw something I've never seen in the wild before.

A random peacock. Then another.. and ANOTHER. I don't know why I thought this kind of bird lived in the rainforest or something.. I've only ever seen one at the Oregon Zoo.. 

We stopped and admired it, I took a little video and talked to him.. we laughed and kept it movin'.

Later I looked up the symbolism of a peacock and one phrase stood out to me: rebirth.

Whether you believe in symbolism or not, I smiled, because that word felt right.

Rebirth.

Not into someone stronger... I’ve already spent my whole life being strong.

Rebirth into someone softer.

Someone who extends grace to herself. Someone who doesn’t measure her worth by productivity.

Someone who doesn’t have to earn rest. Someone who trusts God enough to put down what she was never meant to carry alone.

The truth is, my circumstances haven’t magically changed. My kids still need me, the bills still exist, life is still life.

But something inside me shifted.

Maybe, I stopped asking God, “Why me?”

And started asking HiM, “Show me what You’re building.”

For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like life is happening to me. I feel like God is shaping me, and maybe that’s what faith really is.

Not believing that hard things won’t happen, but believing that none of them are wasted.