2025, The Year I Finally Got Off the Battlefield

I’ve been scrolling through social media lately, and it seems like everyone can’t wait to kick 2025 to the curb. Post after post of people declaring it the worst year ever, counting down the days until they can slam the door on it and rush headlong into 2026 like it’s some kind of promised land.

And honestly? I get it. 2025 was a lot.

But as I sat down to write this final post of the year, I found myself asking, Was it really all bad? The answer that came back surprised me.

Don’t get me wrong. 2025 came with its share of gut punches. My daughter was attacked, and I found myself in an emergency room holding her hand, trying to be strong when I felt anything but. My father-in-law had two strokes within weeks of each other. Suddenly Josh and I were stepping into bigger leadership roles at church, helping my mother-in-law carry things we’d never carried before. My husband got really sick and was out of work for almost four months. Four months of wondering how we were going to pay our mortgage, how we were going to keep the lights on, how we were going to make it through. And then my aunt passed away. One of the only aunts on my biological mother’s side that I had any relationship with. One of the few connections I had left to that part of my story.

There were moments when I wondered if we’d make it through. Moments when the weight felt too heavy, the road too long, the battles too frequent. But here’s what I’m learning…

Because mixed in with all that difficulty was an undeniable thread of joy. We started 2025 with a new grandbaby. Pure sweetness and new life. We purchased our first home after years of praying and believing. Against all odds, with so many government programs being halted, our DCF contract got renewed. My son went back to work. An answered prayer we’d been crying out for.

I got intentional about my speaking engagements this year. After traveling almost twice a month in 2024, I chose to be home more in 2025. I said yes to only three speaking opportunities, and each one mattered. Each one meant something. I was home to help my daughter navigate being a new teen mom while finishing school. I protected my peace. I became a better wife. More careful with my words, more intentional with my tone, more present in loving Josh well.

Those weren’t small things. Those were miracles dressed in ordinary days.

But if I’m being completely honest, the biggest win of 2025 wasn’t something you could see from the outside. It was what happened on the inside. For most of my life, I’ve lived in fight-or-flight mode. When you grow up in foster care, when you experience the kind of trauma that rewires your nervous system, your body learns to stay ready for the next crisis. My anxiety became my constant companion. Racing thoughts, sleepless nights, a mind that wouldn’t shut off no matter how exhausted I was.

I’ve spent years trying to manage it through control. If I could just control everything around me, maybe I could finally feel safe. But a few years ago, the Lord started dealing with me about that spirit of control. He asked me to let it go. And I did. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.

Still, the anxiety remained. After my son’s car accident in 2021, it hit an all-time high. I couldn’t be around too many people. My discernment, which is both a gift and a burden, kept me constantly on edge. Feeling everything, sensing everything, carrying everything.

A year ago, my doctor prescribed anxiety medication. I picked up the prescription, went home, started watching TikTok videos and Googling side effects. I promptly got so anxious about the anxiety medication that I refused to take it. (Yes, I see the irony.)

But a few weeks ago, I decided enough was enough. I was tired of living scared. Tired of the racing thoughts and the sleepless nights. Tired of the constant vigilance that made even peaceful moments feel like I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

So I started taking the medication. And ya’ll, I’m only in week three, but something is shifting. My brain isn’t racing like it used to. I’m sleeping. Really sleeping. Deep, restful, healing sleep. I realized just today that for the first time in my life, I don’t feel like I’m constantly on a battlefield.

I need to pause here and say something that I wish someone had said to me years ago.

For too long, the church has sent dangerous messages about mental health and medication. “Just pray about it.” “Read more scripture.” “If you’re taking medication, you’re depending on that instead of God.” These responses aren’t just unhelpful. They’re harmful. They’re damaging to people who are struggling severely with anxiety and other mental health challenges.

The truth is this, The Lord allowed these resources to be created in order to help us. Seeking help from a medical professional does not mean you don’t trust God. It doesn’t mean you don’t believe in the power of God. It just means you might require a little more help. And that’s okay.

I’ve gone through a lot in my 43 years of life. Foster care. Molestation and sex trafficking. A home invasion. Watching my mother die. My brother being in prison. My son’s car accident. The list goes on. I honestly don’t even know how I’m still in my right mind. But I do know that I haven’t been able to completely live to my fullest potential because my anxiety has controlled so much of how I see life, how I do life, how I experience life.

So I want to give you permission to seek the help you need. For me, it was anxiety medication. For you, it might be getting diagnosed for some other mental health struggle or challenge you’re experiencing. While I’m on medication, I still love the Lord. I still trust the Lord. I still believe in the power of God. But I also know that I needed to do something for me to be able to really focus in and live in my full potential and purpose.

And listen. I am absolutely an open book. If you’ve been considering taking anxiety medication and you want to hear more about my journey, the medication I’m currently on, or what I’ve experienced in these last few weeks, reach out. I’m here for it. No shame. No judgment. Just real conversation about real healing.

When you’ve spent your entire life with your guard up, learning to put it down feels like a whole new existence. There’s a level of peace, a depth of joy, a quality of presence that I didn’t even know was possible. I hear it in how I talk to my kids. I feel it in how I move through my home. I’ve been so intentional about making our house a place of actual peace and comfort. Not just a place we survive in, but a place we live in. It’s beautiful in a way that’s hard to describe unless you’ve lived it.

So yes, 2025 was an adventure. It had ups and downs, triumphs and tragedies, breakthroughs and breakdowns. But it wasn’t horrible. It was exactly what I needed to get me ready for what’s next.

Because the word the Lord gave me for 2026 is this, Saddle Up. Not “rest up” or “slow down” or “take it easy.” Saddle up. It’s the language of a cowboy getting ready to ride, of a warrior preparing for the journey ahead. It means the horse is ready, the path is set, and it’s time to move. But here’s what I love about this word.

After years of fighting just to survive, just to keep my head above water, just to make it through the next crisis, God is saying it’s time for a different kind of movement. Not frantic. Not fearful. Not desperate. Intentional. Purposeful. Directed.

I’m carrying the peace I found in 2025 into 2026. I’m bringing the boundaries I learned to set, the rest I learned to take, the anxiety medication I finally learned to accept. I’m bringing the lessons about being a better wife, a more present mother and grandmother, a leader who doesn’t have to carry everything alone. And I’m going somewhere. Deeper impact in the lives of foster youth. A stronger, healthier Unashamed Inc. More intentional moments with my family. A walk with God that isn’t driven by anxiety but anchored in trust.

But more than any program or event or accolade, I’m riding into 2026 with something I haven’t had in a long time: genuine peace. The kind that doesn’t depend on circumstances. The kind that isn’t shaken by hard seasons. The kind that lets me sleep at night and wake up grateful.

So if you’re one of the people who can’t wait to say goodbye to 2025, I get it. Some years are just hard. Some seasons require more of us than we thought we had to give. Maybe you lost someone this year. Someone who mattered, someone whose absence has left a hole you don’t know how to fill. Maybe you’re struggling financially, wondering how you’re going to make it through another month, let alone another year. Maybe you’ve faced battles that have left you exhausted, depleted, wondering if you have anything left to give. I see you. I’ve been you. In some ways, I still am you.

But before you close the book on this year completely, take a moment to look for the thread of goodness woven through it. The prayers that got answered. The growth that happened in the hard places. The ways you’re stronger now than you were 365 days ago.

Maybe the loss taught you what truly matters. Maybe the financial struggle revealed a strength you didn’t know you had. Maybe the grief carved out space in your heart for a deeper kind of joy.

For me, it was the year I finally got off the battlefield.

And now? I’m saddled up and ready to ride.

2026, let’s do this. But this time, we’re doing it differently. This time, we’re doing it in peace.

Whatever 2025 took from you, whatever it gave you, whatever scars or gifts you’re carrying into the new year, you made it. You’re still here. You’re still standing. And that alone is worth celebrating.

So here’s to the year that tried us, blessed us, broke us, and built us. Here’s to closing one chapter and opening another. Here’s to saddling up and riding into whatever comes next.

“You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in you.” - Isaiah 26:3