Healing is freaking lonely

After I left the church, I felt more alone than I ever had in my life.

My mom and brother had stopped speaking to me. One day, I passed my Mom in Wal-Mart with my youngest daughter in the cart. I was excited to see her.

“Hi Mom!”, I said excitedly. She passed me without a glance. She passed her grandbaby without a look of love, just like we were invisible. I held it together until I got in the car, then broke down and sobbed like a baby.

And my so-called friends? Conditional.

The moment I walked away from religion altogether was the moment they walked away from me.

I was 40. Just starting college to become an art teacher.
I didn’t fit in with the Christians on campus—and I didn’t fit in with the artists either.
I didn’t even know who I was without God, without worship, without the rules.

I raged at the name of Jesus. I couldn’t even speak it.
I spiraled.

At one point, I thought about going back.
Apologizing. Submitting.
Just to belong again.

That’s when I knew the pain of staying would destroy me faster than the pain of isolation.

Then one day, my favorite professor passed me in the hall and said,
"You got time to come by my office?"

I said yes.
She closed the door. Sat across from me. Looked me dead in the eye.

"I'm not a therapist," she said. "But I know you’re carrying something heavy. I’m a safe place if you need one."

And just like that—I broke.
The sobs came from my gut.
I told her everything. The church. The exile. The shame. The silence.

She said:
"Debby. You are NOT broken. You’re between the version of yourself that no longer fits and the version that hasn’t arrived yet. Be gentle. You’re writing your own book now, and your own rules. No more playbook. No more canned beliefs. Just truth."

And something in me clicked.
The kind of click that doesn’t make the pain disappear—but makes it make sense.

I wasn’t alone. I was shedding.

I wasn’t broken. I was in the middle of becoming someone I had never been allowed to be.

That moment didn’t fix everything, but it gave me something to hold on to.

A thread of truth. A breath of hope. A glimpse of the woman I was becoming.

And from that day forward, I chose her. I chose me.

I’ve stumbled and fallen a few times since then, and my healing has moved in a spiral—not a straight line. There were days I forgot my worth. Days I almost went back. Days I questioned everything.

But one thing I know is this—
Once you taste the kind of peace that comes from choosing yourself, nothing less will ever feel like home again.

And no matter how long it takes, you will find your way back to you.
Every. Single. Time.

Somatic/Energetic Practice: The Bridge Breath

When you leave a belief system that shaped your identity, the loneliness runs deep.
Not just emotional—but physical.
Your nervous system misses the feeling of belonging, even if it came at the cost of your truth.

So where do you go when you don’t trust anyone—not even yourself yet?

You start here.
In your body.
In this breath.

This is how we begin to feel safe again—without needing approval, a church, or a blueprint.

Try this now:

• Sit somewhere quiet. Let your spine be relaxed but upright.

• Place one hand over your heart, one over your low belly.

• Inhale slowly for a count of 4.

• Hold gently for 2.

• Exhale fully for a count of 6.

As you exhale, imagine the word “belong” resting gently across your chest like a warm cloth.
Not as something you have to earn—
but something that’s already yours.

Repeat the breath three times.
Then whisper softly:

Let your body believe it before your mind fully does.
This is the start of trust.

Art Prompt: Your First YES

On a page, canvas, or corner of a napkin—
Draw the version of you that no longer fits.

What are the words that describe her? Write those down.
Then draw the version of you that’s becoming.

What does she look like? What words describe who you want to be? You may not know, and that’s ok.
Now look at the two. What connects them?
What bridges them? Are there similarities?

Write down how you feel. Let that line be your next leading breath. What color is it?
What shape does it take?
What does your body feel like when you say it?

You’re not broken, sister.
You’re rewriting your whole darn life.
And that’s holy work. You’ve got this.

I love you,

Debby

The Next Spiral

When Sunday mornings stopped meaning shame…

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