When My Healed Version Meets the One Who Once Killed Her

As this year prepares to close and a new one begins, I can feel my healed version of self rising — ready to take a leap into the next chapter of my life. But before she steps forward, she pauses… not in fear, but in gratitude. She turns around to meet the past version of me — the one who survived the unthinkable — and she thanks her.

There was a time in my life when I sat in a courtroom for two weeks, a death penalty case, forced to breathe the same air as the man who destroyed and killed so much at once: my stepchildren, the live version of my husband at the time, the man I once loved, the future I was building, the dreams I dared to hold.

In those moments, I was not the woman I am today. I was broken. I was hurting. I was terrified to exist in that room. I could barely stand the weight of reality on my chest.

And yet… even in the days where hope felt cruel, I kept choosing to show up — for myself, for others, and eventually for the life that would one day be mine.

I had to learn how to fill my own cup again — not overnight, not cleanly, not without stumbling. I had to learn how to smile again, even when smiling felt like a betrayal of my grief. I had to learn how to help others heal, even when I hadn’t yet figured out how to hold my own pain. But I did. I kept going. I kept trying. And little by little, the version of me who was shattered became a version of me who was rebuilding.

Healing has taken years. But today, I can look back at that moment — even at the face of the monster who stole so much — with strength in my stare. I’m not sure forgiveness is ready to live in my heart, and that’s okay. What I can do is thank him… not for what he did, but for what he could never take:

He did not take my faith. He did not take my strength.He did not take my purpose.He did not take my ability to love, to nurture, to build again.

He unintentionally pushed me into a deeper understanding of myself — into a life where I get to work with children every day, help them grow, and love them through learning. He reminded me that even when loss empties your hands, life is still capable of placing new miracles into them.

I don’t know if I’ll ever find love like that again.I don’t know if motherhood will ever revisit my story.But I do know this: the future God is writing for me did not end in that courtroom.

So as we stand at the doorway of a new year, I leave this reminder for anyone who is holding pain close:

be gentle with yourself. Give yourself grace. Healing is not weakness — it is holy work.

Do not hand your power to those who hurt you.Their chapters in your story were never meant to define your entire book.

We are built uniquely. We are loved unconditionally. We are here — alive — and that is a gift. Every morning we wake up is a second chance that many people are fighting for.

I am stepping into 2026 with confidence — not because life has been easy, but because I survived what tried to destroy me. I am stronger than I have ever been. I am doing things that once terrified me. I am creating the life of my dreams — not the one that was taken from me.

And if I can transform unimaginable pain into purpose, possibility, and peace…

so can you.

Here’s to new beginnings, new strength, and a heart that knows how to rise again. Here’s to the healed version — ready to leap. Here’s to you.