There comes a moment in a woman’s life when she has to stop and tell herself the truth. She may still love her family, honor her responsibilities, and remain deeply grateful for the life she has lived. But somewhere beneath all that faithfulness, she realizes she has spent years showing up for everyone except herself.

That moment came for me after my husband, Ernest, died. I had no intention of writing a journal about rescuing myself. I sat down to write a retirement journal because I believed I needed to create a product that could help generate retirement income. But every time I tried to write about retirement, I couldn’t. Grief kept interrupting the page. His death had arrested my life, and the words I planned to write would not come.

Instead, God redirected my pen toward the woman I had become and the woman I had lost along the way.

As I sat with my own life, I began reviewing the decades behind me. I had been a wife, mother, grandmother, caregiver, ministry leader, entrepreneur, employee, encourager, problem-solver, and rescuer. I had poured into people I loved, helped carry their burdens, and often made sure they reached the other side of their difficulties.

I was not angry about loving them. I was not resentful about what I had given. I was simply faced with a painful truth: while helping everyone else find their way, I had slowly lost touch with my own dreams, my own voice, and the woman God had entrusted to me.

Then the words rose within me: “This has to stop.” Not my love for others. Not my willingness to serve. What had to stop was the pattern of abandoning myself while calling it faithfulness.

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