The Kind of “Good Report” No One Prepares You For

Today I had an appointment with my neurologist for my multiple sclerosis.

And technically… it was a good one.

My recent brain MRI showed no active lesions. No new damage. My doctor believes the DMT I’m on is doing its job—slowing progression.

This is the kind of news you’re supposed to celebrate.

But I walked in with questions written in my notebook—questions that have been sitting heavy on my heart.

“Things look good on my blood work and MRI,” I asked her, “but can symptoms from past relapses get worse over time?”

She explained that increases in body temperature can play a significant role in bringing back or intensifying old symptoms.

“It just doesn’t make sense,” I told her. “If I’m stable… if I’m not progressing… why do my old symptoms feel like they’re getting worse?”

And then it hit me.

The lump in my throat.
The tears I couldn’t hold back.
The weight of something I’m still learning how to carry.

“I’m sorry,” I managed to say through shaky breaths. “I think I’m still grieving this disease.”

She handed me a tissue.

And my husband—steady as always—reminded me of something I needed to hear:
That I am doing a good job.
That I am taking care of my body.
That today is a good day… because the report was good.

But here’s the honest part no one really talks about—

Sometimes a “good report” still comes with grief.

Because deep down, I still hope for a different ending.
I want to hear:
It’s gone. It’s getting better. You don’t have to fight this anymore.

But that’s not the reality I’m living in.

So sometimes I get angry.
Sometimes I cry.
And sometimes these appointments feel like a twice-a-year reminder that I’m battling something invisible.

Today, I’m choosing to sit with it.

To rest.
To reflect.
To feel—without suppressing, without bargaining, without giving up.

I will keep the faith.
And I will keep fighting.

Fighting to reduce inflammation in my body through how I eat and move.
Fighting to stay consistent with the treatments that are protecting my future.
Fighting to hold onto hope—that maybe I’ve already seen the worst of this.

And learning how to listen to my body…
so I can navigate, and maybe even avoid, what tries to come next.

If you’re living with a chronic illness, I want you to hear this:

You are not alone in the highs and lows.
You are not weak for grieving something that hasn’t left your body.
You are not failing because it’s hard.

Feel it.
Release it.

But don’t let it steal your ability to see the good that still exists in your life.

Because even here… in the middle of it all—

There is still life to be lived.

Leigh Leigh

Explore by Category

This blog is organized into four simple spaces.

Each one reflects a part of real life I’m learning to stay present in—my body, my mind, my faith, and my everyday life.

You don’t have to read everything.

Just start where you feel drawn.

Body

Learning to listen to my body instead of trying to control it.

This category includes thoughts on energy, burnout, physical awareness, and learning a healthier relationship with my body—without punishment or pressure.

Mind

Learning to stay with myself instead of constantly trying to fix myself.

This is where I write about overthinking, emotional overwhelm, identity shifts, nervous system patterns, and learning not to turn every feeling into a problem to solve.

Faith

Learning to trust in the middle, not just when things make sense.

This space holds thoughts on grace, uncertainty, spiritual growth, and what it looks like to stay grounded in faith during real, unresolved life.

Life

Where all of this actually plays out.

This category holds everyday life—motherhood, relationships, responsibilities, emotional load, and learning how to stay present in real time.

If you’re new here

If you’re not sure where to start, begin with the Start Here page. It will guide you through the heart of this space and help you ease into the content.

👉 Start Here

This isn’t a space about having everything figured out.

It’s a space for learning how to stay steady in the middle of it all.

Leigh Leigh

In the Middle of the Storm: Learning Who I Am While Life Is Unresolved

I am in the middle.

In the thick of it.

The chaos is swirling from every direction, and my mind is constantly trying to process the ebbs and flows of the punches life keeps throwing.

I started this blog from the perspective of learning how to stay steady in yourself while life remains unresolved…

and here I am.

Still learning.

Still becoming.

I have found myself this year in a constant battle—not of fixing everything around me—but of not losing myself while everything around me feels unstable.

Anger. Confusion. Resentment. A deep sense of unfairness.

It all stacks up.

It becomes heavy.

Unsettling.

And unlike anything I can simply “step away from.”

There is no escape plan for this kind of storm.

No shelter to hide in.

No boat to ride it out safely in the distance.

It is just me.

Facing me.

Learning me.

Trying to cope with things that feel unresolved and without clear reconciliation.

Relationships are hard.

Especially in dysfunctional family dynamics.

It often feels like no one gets what they want while continuing to repeat the same cycles over and over again.

But I have become aware.

Aware of the patterns.
Aware of the cycles.
Aware that I actually have the power to step out of the constant rotation I’ve found myself in.

But awareness is not simple.

Awareness brings clarity—but it can also bring fear.

And fear, if we are not careful, can begin to change us.

It can make us emotionally numb. Bitter. Angry. Detached.

It can slowly reshape our inner character.

Because the human body wants to protect itself from pain.

And sometimes, in trying to avoid our own pain… we end up passing pain onto others.

And I don’t want to become that person.

The one who was hurt and then hurts others.

I have spent my whole life fighting not to become that version of myself.

But I would be lying if I said there aren’t moments lately…

where the temptation to become cold just to survive feels easier.

Where becoming the “villain” in someone else’s story feels like a form of protection.

Because when you have been pushed aside for a long time…

unseen…
unheard…
unappreciated…

it wears you down.

So I sit.

I write.

I think.

I try to make sense of what is swirling inside of me.

And I gently ask myself:

Who do you want to be when this storm passes?

Because even if it takes years…

it will pass.

Do I want to become jaded?

Cynical?

Bitter?

Closed off?

Emotionally disconnected?

Or do I want to stay soft in places where life is trying to harden me?

I have learned that suppressing my emotions for too long has taken a toll on me—not just emotionally, but physically as well.

So I am learning to be present in my body.

To sit with what I feel instead of burying it.

And today, when I try to push it all aside, I ask myself:

Will I let circumstance and injustice change who I am at my core?

Will I let it dim my light?

Will I let it taint the way I love?

“To thine own self be true.”

It is a phrase I keep tucked in my heart on days like this.

And I can’t help but also hear the words of Jesus whispering in my spirit:

“The truth shall set you free.”

I want freedom from this storm.

I want forgiveness in my heart.

I want truth.

I want reconciliation.

I want clarity.

And I believe that if certain truths were exposed, it would bring freedom.

But sometimes… that exposure doesn’t come when we want it to.

And maybe that is where the deeper work is done.

Maybe the only way through the waiting is not losing ourselves in the process.

Maybe the path forward is staying anchored in who we truly are.

Anchored in truth.

Anchored in love.

Anchored in God.

Because I do believe there is a line we all walk.

A dangerous one I am learning to recognize:

The line between peace and control.

Because it is easy to manipulate situations in the name of peace.

To perform love.

To keep things calm on the surface while suppressing what is real underneath.

But that kind of peace is fragile.

It doesn’t last.

It breaks when life shifts again.

So instead, I am learning this:

Do not build peace on control.
Do not build love on performance.
Do not build healing on suppression.

Stay anchored.

Stay rooted.

Stay true.

Even when nothing around you feels resolved.

Steady.
Present.
Trusting God in the middle.

If you’re in a season that feels unresolved, heavy, or emotionally loud… I want you to know you’re not alone in it.

Have you ever found yourself trying to stay true to who you are while everything around you feels like it’s shifting?

I’d love to hear from you.

When Showing Up Is Enough

Everything feels like an annoyance when you finally start seeing things for what they really are.

I woke up to my alarm blaring—dry mouth, already cranky, and not in the mood to rush. It was the third Saturday in a row I had to get up and immediately meet the demands of plans that needed my attention.

And I could already feel it…
that low hum of anxiety starting to build.

I had less than one hour.

Less than one hour to get myself and my foster daughter fed, dressed, and across town to a classmate’s birthday party.

And my mind? It was off and running.

Will I know any of the moms there?
Are they all going to be younger than me?
Why am I 40 going to a 7-year-old’s birthday party?

I’ve always been the girl who connects with older women, so the thought of being surrounded by younger moms made me feel uncomfortable.

It’s funny how fast our minds can spiral.

There I was, standing in the mirror, plucking chin hairs, laughing to myself about how I used to take for granted the days when I didn’t have to think about any of this before leaving the house.

And then the chaos hit.

As I’m putting on moisturizer, it hits me—
I didn’t give her a bath the night before.

And she definitely needed one.

We had 20 minutes.

I ran upstairs, turned on the shower, and told her to hop in.

“Wash up, hurry, get dressed, brush your teeth!”

As I’m flying back downstairs, I realize…

I didn’t wrap the gift.

Of course I didn’t.

Now we’re down to 10 minutes.

I rush to my room, throwing together tissue paper and grabbing a random card I had laying around—trying to make it look somewhat intentional.

Meanwhile, she comes downstairs looking adorable and completely ready.

I hand her a protein bar just to get something in her stomach, throw on my shoes, kiss my husband goodbye, and we’re out the door.

But even as we’re driving…

I can feel it.

That heavy, critical voice in my head.

What is wrong with you?
You’re not this kind of woman.
You didn’t used to be this last-minute, thrown-together person.

And the truth is…
I’ve always struggled with that inner critic.

I’ve held myself to high standards for as long as I can remember.
Always trying to do everything the “right” way.
The best way.

But lately?

That energy has felt like it’s slowly leaking out of me…
like air slipping out of a balloon.

I’ve been a mom for 21 years.

And I love it.
I love nurturing, caring, showing up.

But recently, something has shifted.

The enthusiasm hasn’t been as loud.
The excitement hasn’t been as natural.

And instead of giving myself space for that…

I’ve been questioning myself.

What’s wrong with you?
Who even are you right now?

So instead of pushing it down, I decided to sit with it.

To really look at what was happening.

And then I saw her.

At the party.

Laughing. Playing. Having the best time.

Completely unaware of the chaos we came from.

She didn’t know she skipped a bath the night before.
She didn’t know I wrapped the gift minutes before leaving.
She didn’t see my stress, my rushing, or my self-doubt.

She didn’t see any of my “shortcomings.”

She just experienced the moment.

Joyfully.
Fully.

And it hit me.

Why do I let my perceived flaws take up so much space in my mind…
when the people I love don’t even see them?

From her perspective, we showed up.

Seamlessly.

On the way home, she looked at me and said,

“You’re the best momma.”

And that stopped me.

Because the truth is…
this was her first time ever going to a classmate’s birthday party.

Before coming into my home, she had never experienced that.

And I almost let my internal chaos overshadow what actually mattered.

I did it.

Even with the rushing.
Even with the bad attitude.
Even with the “just get through it” energy.

I showed up.

And we had a beautiful time.

Maybe it doesn’t have to be perfect to matter.

Maybe we don’t have to go above and beyond every single time.

Maybe sometimes…

showing up is enough.

I know I’ve had a heavy, emotionally demanding month.
I know I struggle with people-pleasing and wanting to be “enough.”

And I also know…

Sometimes I’m going to feel tired.
Sometimes I’m going to feel off.
Sometimes I’m going to show up a little less polished than I’d like.

But I’m still here.

Still loving.
Still trying.
Still showing up.

So I’m learning to let go of the constant:

analyzing
criticizing
judging myself harshly

And instead, I’m choosing to recognize this:

I can handle more than I think.

Even on the messy days.

Because sometimes…

all it really takes is showing up, a little caffeine…

and 30 minutes.

Have you ever had a moment where everything felt chaotic, but it still turned out okay? I’d love to hear your story. 🤍

Leigh Leigh

Not Everything Is a Problem to Solve

I used to treat almost everything I felt like something I needed to figure out.

If I felt anxious, I wanted to understand why.

If I felt overwhelmed, I wanted to fix the cause.

If I felt emotionally off, I assumed something needed to change.

I didn’t realize how automatic it had become.

My mind would immediately scan for solutions—even when nothing actually needed to be solved.

The pressure I didn’t notice

At the time, it felt responsible.

Like if I could just understand myself well enough, I could manage myself better.

But underneath that was a quiet pressure I was carrying all the time:

That every feeling had a reason.

That every discomfort needed an answer.

That every internal shift meant something was wrong that I had to correct.

And without realizing it, I started treating my inner world like a problem to constantly manage.

What I started noticing

Some of what I was trying to “solve” wasn’t actually a problem.

It was just:

fatigue

overstimulation

emotion moving through me

normal human stress

seasons of life that feel heavy

Not everything had a deeper issue behind it.

Not everything needed a fix.

But I was always reaching for one anyway.

What happens when everything becomes a problem

When you start labeling every feeling as something to solve, you stop just being with yourself.

You start:

analyzing instead of feeling

reacting instead of pausing

fixing instead of listening

And slowly, you become more disconnected from what’s actually happening inside you.

Not because you’re doing anything wrong…

But because you never stay long enough to just experience it.

What I’m learning now

I’m learning to pause before I turn everything into a problem.

To ask myself:

Is this something I actually need to solve… or something I just need to stay with?

Sometimes the answer is yes, there’s something to address.

But a lot of the time, the answer is no.

It’s just life happening inside me.

And I don’t need to fix it to move through it.

What it looks like to not solve everything

It looks like:

letting myself feel without immediately interpreting it

noticing discomfort without turning it into urgency

allowing emotions to pass without assigning meaning to every one

staying present instead of immediately trying to change something

It’s quieter than I expected.

Less reactive.

Less mental noise.

More space.

If you’re here

If you’ve spent a lot of your life trying to fix what you feel, understand yourself faster, or solve every internal shift…

You’re not alone in that.

I’m learning this too.

That not everything is a problem to solve.

Some things are just meant to be experienced.

And I’m learning how to stay with that.

Leigh Leigh

I Used To Think Peace Came After Fixing Everything

I used to believe peace was something I would reach once everything was fixed.

Once I understood it.

Once I improved it.

Once I got it under control.

If something felt off in my body, my emotions, my thoughts, or my life—I would immediately try to figure out what needed to change.

I thought that meant I was being responsible.

I thought that meant I was taking care of myself.

But what I didn’t realize at the time was how much pressure I was living under.

The pattern I didn’t see

My default response to discomfort was always the same:

Fix it.

Solve it.

Adjust it.

Move past it.

Even internally.

If I felt anxious, I tried to understand it.

If I felt tired, I tried to optimize it.

If something felt emotionally heavy, I tried to process it quickly so I could feel “okay” again.

I didn’t realize I wasn’t actually staying with myself.

I was constantly trying to move away from what I was feeling in order to fix it.

And over time, that became exhausting.

What I started noticing

The more I tried to fix everything, the more disconnected I felt from myself.

Not because anything was “wrong” with me…

But because I never stayed long enough to actually be present with what was happening.

I was always in motion internally.

Always adjusting.

Always analyzing.

Always trying to reach resolution.

But peace kept feeling further away.

Not closer.

What I’m learning instead

I’m learning something that has changed the way I move through my life:

Not everything is meant to be fixed immediately.

Some things are meant to be noticed.

Some things are meant to be felt.

Some things are meant to be lived through without rushing to resolve them.

Discomfort isn’t always a problem to solve.

Sometimes it’s just information.

Sometimes it’s just a moment passing through.

And I don’t have to fix it right away to be okay.

I can stay.

What peace is starting to look like now

Peace is no longer feeling like everything is in order.

It’s starting to feel like:

I don’t have to immediately fix what I feel

I can stay present without rushing to escape it

I can trust myself even when things feel unclear

I don’t have to resolve every discomfort to be okay

It’s quieter than I expected.

And slower.

If you’re here

If you’ve ever felt like you have to fix everything inside you just to feel okay…

I understand that.

I’m learning to unlearn that too.

And I’m still in it.

Still becoming.

Still learning how to stay.

Leigh Leigh

Why I started This Space (Held in the Middle)

There’s a place I keep finding myself in lately.

Not at the beginning of things.

Not at the end.

But in the middle.

The part where things are still unfolding.

Still unclear.

Still becoming.

For a long time, I didn’t know what to do with that space.

I thought the goal was always to move through it as quickly as possible. To fix it, understand it, improve it, and move on so I could feel steady again.

That was my pattern in almost everything.

If something felt off, I would try to correct it.

If I felt overwhelmed, I would try to manage it.

If I didn’t understand something, I would try to figure it out as quickly as possible.

I thought that’s how you create peace.

But over time, I started noticing something I couldn’t ignore anymore.

I wasn’t becoming more peaceful.

I was becoming more tired.

What I didn’t see at first

I used to believe peace came after resolution.

After I got it right.

After I figured it out.

After I improved it enough.

So I lived in a constant cycle of noticing discomfort and trying to fix it.

Even internally.

But the more I did that, the more disconnected I felt from myself.

I wasn’t actually staying with what I was feeling.

I was always moving away from it in order to fix it.

And that came at a cost.

What I’m learning now

I’m learning something that feels simple, but has changed how I move through my life.

Not everything is meant to be fixed immediately.

Not every feeling is a problem.

Not every moment of discomfort means something is wrong.

Sometimes it’s just life happening in real time.

And I don’t have to rush out of it to be okay.

I can stay.

Why “Held in the Middle”

This space is called Held in the Middle because that’s where I’ve been learning to live again.

In the middle of becoming and not yet being there.

In the middle of clarity and uncertainty.

In the middle of peace and discomfort.

In the middle of faith and unanswered questions.

Not at the extremes.

Not at arrival points.

But in the process.

And what I’m starting to understand is this:

Being in the middle doesn’t mean something is wrong.

It just means life is still unfolding.

What this space will be

This isn’t a place where I have everything figured out.

It’s a place where I’m learning to:

stop turning every discomfort into something I need to fix

stay present instead of constantly managing myself

listen to my body instead of overriding it

build a kind of peace that doesn’t depend on control

live my faith in the middle, not just after things are resolved

This space is less about answers, and more about awareness.

Less about fixing life, and more about staying with it.

If you’re here

You might be in your own middle too.

In a season where things feel unfinished.

Where you’re still becoming who you are.

Where you’re learning that peace might not come from fixing everything, but from learning how to stay even when things aren’t resolved.

If that’s you, you’re not alone here.

I’m still learning this too.

And this is where I’m writing from now.

To read the beginning of this series click here!

Leigh Leigh

Start Here

Learning to stay present in a chaotic life.

If you’re new here, I’m really glad you found your way to this space.

This blog—Held in the Middle—was created from a shift I’ve been living through in real time.

For a long time, I thought peace came after everything was fixed.

After I figured things out.

After I improved what felt off.

After I made sense of everything internally.

But life doesn’t stay resolved for long.

And I started noticing that constantly trying to fix everything wasn’t making me more peaceful…

It was making me more tired.

What this space is about

This is a space where I’m learning how to stay steady in my body, mind, and faith while real life keeps happening.

Not after everything is figured out.

Not once life calms down.

But right here—in the middle of it.

I’m learning:

how to stay present without turning every feeling into a problem to solve

how to listen to my body instead of constantly pushing through

how to hold faith even when things feel unclear

how to live everyday life without losing myself in it

This isn’t about having answers.

It’s about learning how to stay.

Where to begin

If you’re not sure where to start, these posts will give you a feel for what this space is about:

Why I Started This Space (Held in the Middle)

I Used to Think Peace Came After Fixing Everything

Not Everything Is a Problem to Solve

Explore by category

Everything here falls into four simple areas of life:

Body

Learning to listen instead of control.

Posts about energy, burnout, strength, and building a healthier relationship with my body.

Mind

Learning to stay instead of fix.

Posts about overthinking, emotional overwhelm, identity shifts, and nervous system awareness.

Faith

Learning to trust in the middle.

Posts about grace, uncertainty, and what it looks like to stay grounded in faith without having everything figured out.

Life

Where it all actually plays out.

Posts about motherhood, relationships, daily pressure, and the reality of living all of this in real life.

A note before you keep reading

I don’t write from a place of having it all together.

I write from the middle of learning.

From the moments where I still feel the pull to fix, control, or figure everything out…

and the moments where I’m learning to pause instead and stay.

Stay present.

Stay grounded.

Stay steady—even when things feel unfinished.

If any part of this resonates with you, you’re welcome to stay.

You don’t have to have everything figured out to begin.

Leigh Leigh

The Irony of “Let’s Just Go”

That is the saying on my cute floral license plate cover on my ride. It reads, “LET’S JUST GO.”

I kind of find the irony humorous, considering the type of driver I actually am. What would you call it—rigid, timid, unsure, probably going to linger a little too long at a yellow caution light because I don’t want to cut you off? Cautious? Defensive?

You know the one. The driver who counts to three after the light turns green. The one who waits years to turn left on yellow. Yup—that’s me. I’m the girl you’re probably road-raging at, yelling, “GO! JUST GO! Oh my gosh, GO ALREADY!”

And then you look down, read my adorable floral license plate cover that says LET’S JUST GO, and you eye-roll thinking, The nerve of this lady. She isn’t even going—so why is she announcing that we should?

True story. One day my daughter and I were leaving a store, sitting in a left-turn lane on yellow. The guy behind me was honking and motioning for me to go, but there was a steady stream of oncoming cars. Darting out just to get him off my bumper wasn’t worth endangering my life—or anyone else’s.

In my cute naïveté, I almost thought he was trying to tell me something was hanging out of my trunk. I was genuinely confused… until he sped up on my right, cut me off in the intersection, flipped me off, and darted in front of the oncoming traffic that had the right of way.

I was stunned by the nerve. The audacity. The impatience.

I sometimes think I should replace my license plate cover altogether. But then again—it doesn’t say “Let’s just go already!!!” People need to chill.

“Let’s just go.” Sometimes I want to scream that phrase at others in my life. Obviously, I wouldn’t swerve them, cut them off, flip them off, or jeopardize their safety in the process. It’s just that the phrase has purpose, even if it doesn’t always possess speed.

Maybe it’s a command—but not a rush.

When we’re in the car, everyone is in a hurry. But in life, when we just need to move forward, there isn’t always a fire under our feet or a road-rage driver in our rearview mirror.

Why do we tend to not just go? For me, it comes down to uncertainty—gauging distance, timing, depth, and not wanting to cause harm by moving too soon.

And if I want people to have patience and grace for my overly safe driving, I should learn to extend that same grace to friends who are cautious, hesitant, or simply not ready to put the pedal to the metal in their own season.

We should go wisely, not recklessly.
We should go when it’s safe—when we have peace.
We should go after seeking the Lord for His wisdom in the matter.

I love Proverbs 3:5–6:
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make straight your paths.”

So next time you feel the urge to yell, JUST GO, pause. Step back. Examine the situation. Is there truly a rush—or are you just impatient with someone else’s process?

Walking alongside others who are still in trials you’ve already finished can tempt you to rush them toward freedom. But I believe it’s in those long pauses that the Lord does His best work. After all, He says, “Be still and know that I am God.”

Now if only we could convince the road-raged guy behind us—five minutes late to his meeting—that maybe this pickle isn’t our fault after all.

Maybe ‘Let’s just go’ was never about speed at all—it was always about trust!

Reflecting on the whole NEW YEAR NEW me TREND

It’s interesting, really—I’ve always been a bit of a fanatic about the New Year. The anticipation of the whole “New Year, New Me” craze used to be the fuel that kept me going year after year.

I think it was last year when my brain finally decided to grow a brain of its own. I had this sudden realization: Wait a minute… starting something new in the winter feels kind of absurd. When we look at the natural cycles of life—plants, vegetation, growth—we see that most seeds are planted in the spring and harvested in the fall. So why on earth do we think we can plant seeds in the dead of winter and expect them to be thriving by the next year? Something about the whole ordeal just started to feel off to me. I decided not to participate. I was experiencing my own Bah-humbug (New Years style!)

Honestly, the more in tune I become with the shenanigans of this present world, the more I question the validity of many popular traditions.

With all that said, this year I felt far less of the New Year’s bah-humbug this year and decided to set goals—but not for the entire year. Instead, I leaned into winter goals. Seasonal goals. Goals that actually make sense for the season I’m living in.

I fully plan on changing some of them when spring rolls around—and honestly, doesn’t that feel more realistic? Wouldn’t this mindset help those of us who fall off the New Year’s bandwagon after week two or three? Instead of giving up for another year, we could simply reset with the next season.

Wouldn’t it also make sense if our goals matched what our bodies are already adjusting to? The slower rhythms, the inward energy, the need for rest? Maybe if we considered that before going all in, we’d spare ourselves the shame, self-judgment, and harsh inner criticism that tends to follow when we “fail.”

I don’t know—just something I’ve been pondering this morning.

Do you have New Year’s goals or traditions you keep every year? Have you started to question whether the whole “New Year, New Me” mindset is a bit of a scam? I’d genuinely love to hear your thoughts.

God’s Promise- Something New

Isaiah 43 But now, this is what the Lord says—
    he who created you, Jacob,
    he who formed you, Israel:
“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
    I have summoned you by name; you are mine.
2 When you pass through the waters,
    I will be with you;
and when you pass through the rivers,
    they will not sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire,
    you will not be burned;
    the flames will not set you ablaze.

18 “Forget the former things;
    do not dwell on the past.
19 See, I am doing a new thing!
    Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the wilderness
    and streams in the wasteland.

I have probably read Isaiah 43 at least fifty times in the last five years, and somehow I never caught what hit me today: the undeniable fact that God’s children went through it—and still, God promised restoration. Not only did God’s children have to live through the chaos of their circumstances, but God was with them in every moment of it. Maybe silently. Maybe unseen. But present.

“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you.”
“When you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.”
“When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned.”

God never said his Children wouldn’t face waters or fires. He said those waters wouldn’t drown them and those flames wouldn’t consume them.

I sit here and I think about all the seasons of my own life that felt like rough waters—moments that could have pulled me under. Times when the currents were so strong I lost sight of the direction I wanted to go. I’ve had fire seasons too—moments where it felt like everything around me was reduced to ash. Dreams burned up. Relationships scorched. Foundations I trusted turned to dust. And yet… somehow I was still standing. Still breathing. Not untouched, but not destroyed.

And then I read this text, and it feels like God is saying:
“I know you’ve been through it. I was there. I didn’t let it take you out. But now—listen—there is more.”

You see the wilderness? The wasteland left behind by the floods and fires?
Yes, it’s barren. Yes, it’s broken. But watch what I can do with it.

Let Me restore you.
Let Me rebuild what died while you were still standing.
Let Me do something new…right here, in the middle of the mess.

This post is for the one who is tired—tired of fixing things, controlling things, manipulating life just to make sense of it all. I want to encourage you today to sit with the Holy Spirit and write out a timeline of the “water rushing” and “fire burning” moments in your life—those seasons that felt like they were meant to destroy you.

Bring them to the Father. First and foremost give him thanks for letting you survive them! Ask Him to help you imagine the new that is going to spring up from your wastelands. Because the key to moving forward from this passage is simple and direct:
We must forget the former things and not dwell on them.

Make peace with the fact that you can’t go back and redo the past.
Make peace with the regrets—the “I should have…” and the “If only…” moments.
Make peace with the ways you tried to change it, control it, or make it better.

Forgive the people who participated in those fires.
Do not dwell on it.
Don’t let it linger, or fester, or suffocate the “now.”

Let it go.

PRESS ON!

My Journey: From Logic’s Grip to Faith’s Freedom

For the past year and a half, I’ve been on a profound spiritual journey with the Lord. I’ve granted myself grace to let it unfold naturally—a process that involved plenty of trial and error. Flipping through my journal now, I see the raw struggles: the internal wrestling between logic and faith that kept me up at night. Logic craves explanations, demands answers to every “why.” Faith, though? It trusts. It hopes and believes, even without seeing the evidence.

This clash traces back to childhood. To cope with daily trauma behind our home’s closed doors, I leaned hard on the logical side of my brain. Secrets no child should endure forced me to mask my emotions, burying them so deep I couldn’t even access them for guidance later in life. Making sense of the chaos meant analyzing it logically: understand the “whys,” hide the pain, and pretend it away. I’m sharing this to explain why a logical lens has dominated my mindset—and maybe yours too. Perhaps you’ve never realized how this analytical filter shapes (or limits) how you see the world.

The dam broke on a sweltering Texas summer day. I was driving home, trailing my husband on his newly tuned Harley, the air thick with heat. Leading up to it, I’d been devouring faith-based podcasts, grappling with my identity, coping mechanisms, and survival strategies—all built on logic. I’d just ended a call with an Alongside Nurse prepping me for my first dose of DMT (a treatment I’d sworn off but finally accepted to fight the autoimmune disease diagnosed three years earlier). My husband’s gentle words still echo: “I think you should try the meds. Your body could use the extra help right now.”

In that moment, I realized I couldn’t do it all alone—no matter how stubborn I was. It’s okay to ask for help when you need it (and honesty check: we always do at some point). But back to the call—I was wrecked. Disappointed in “bowing down” to medication after vowing natural healing only. Why now? Why this chronic illness? God! Hot tears streamed as frustration boiled over. Finally, I confessed what I’d buried: “I don’t trust you, God!”

There it was—raw honesty. Now He could work. The Holy Spirit began uprooting that deep lie of distrust. My wrestling softened from a grip to horseplay. “But I want to trust You,” I whispered. And so it began: little by little, I let go of logic as my idol, my false truth, my substitute god. “Okay, I’m ready. Let’s do this.”

I’d love to say transformation hit by fall—haha, nope. Emotional turmoil lingered, but I pressed on. I surrendered running life on my terms, ditching logic’s dictation for grace-fueled living. One day, one moment at a time. I dropped what I’d clung to: setting tough boundaries with loved ones, even stepping away from two ministries I’d poured myself into. In hindsight, I was shedding hides and retreating to a cave for healing. Weeks blurred into months—a full season. Just over a year since that confession, I’m still releasing logic for faith: trusting He holds the answers, freeing me from masking my true self.

In this season, it means slowing down, hushing external noise. Chasing logical “evidence” exhausts you—bombarding your mind with facts, or burying issues in busyness to avoid facing them. I promised myself grace to just be. No fixing flaws I hated, no overanalyzing. Live present: this moment, then the next. Until distractions crept in—meh, work in progress, right?

This summer brought the freedom I’d craved. I stopped self-demands, ditched expectations, quit performing for validation. My husband’s extended leave (a blessing from his company’s foster care support) catalyzed it all. We manage our foster child together, and his 12 weeks off felt like a gift.

Imagine life on a rigid routine, where alone time was your only relief to logically dissect shortcomings. Imagine believing unmet goals meant total failure—a downward spiral. Interruptions used to crush me: restart, do better, be better. Yada yada.

But after his first four weeks off—leaving me 5 pounds heavier, out of shape, house chaotic—I shifted. The next chunk? Pure enjoyment. I told the devil to shut up, kicked back, and savored lunches out, DQ Blizzards (worth every calorie!). No fear of his return or mental chaos.

Slowing down with him was a soul vacation. How to carry it forward? By releasing body image obsessions and cardio guilt, I stopped fixating. Truth hit: All we have is now. Yesterday’s gone; tomorrow’s not promised. Why obsess over future shame or past regrets? What’s the point?

Slowing down isn’t stagnation—it’s beholding the moment, making it count. We’re passengers in these earthly bodies. Why rush monumental tasks? Logic bosses us, craving control. Faith invites imagination, carefree presence.

Choosing Faith Today: Your Turn

I’ve decided: Let logic go. Manage time and energy by faith—it creates space to slow down.

How about you? Live the rest of today trusting God’s goodness and love. He values you without checklists or performance. He’s after the love He’s placed in you—steward that well.

What’s one way you can release control today? Share in the comments—I’d love to hear your story.

Much love,

Leigh Leigh