I feel like no matter what I do, my life is always filled with drama. This is one of the hardest things I’ve wrestled with God about. Why me? Why do I always find myself at the center of some catastrophe I didn’t create? Why do I always have to be the one picking up the pieces, scrambling to create stability in the middle of chaos?
That’s where I am now.
I didn’t choose this storm, but here I am standing in it. Sometimes I wonder if I’m being punished for choosing the wrong spouse. Deep down, I know God was nudging me long ago, whispering, “He’s not it.” But I ignored the red flags. I excused behavior that shouldn’t have been excused. I told myself, “Oh, he’ll grow out of it.” or “He doesn’t really mean it that way.” or “He’s a good guy who just keeps making mistakes.”
The truth is—it wasn’t just mistakes. It was a pattern. A pattern that only grew worse.
And eventually, our marriage collapsed—like an atomic bomb.
Four years have passed since I walked away. Three since the divorce was finalized. I thought distance might shield me from his chaos, but somehow, his choices still bleed into my life—and into my children’s lives.
For context, we are both 42. Old enough to know right from wrong. Old enough to know better. We were both raised in Christian homes, with strong values. His mother’s death in our first year of marriage shook his family deeply, but grief doesn’t excuse a lifetime of destructive choices.
And now—here I am again, reeling from a truth I never wanted to uncover.
Recently, I found out my ex-husband impregnated a 25-year-old high school dropout with a substance abuse history. Even more crushing—I learned she has secretly lived with him since I left… four years ago.
Which means she’s been around my children for years, without my knowledge.
Suddenly, the inconsistencies make sense. The things my daughter tried to tell me in her limited language make sense. My son’s behavior struggles—make sense. All of it paints a picture I wish I never had to see.
The night I discovered this, I could barely bring myself to pray. The only thing I could do was turn up K-Love, sing at the top of my lungs, and cry on the long drive home from grad school. I was broken, angry, and devastated. My words failed, but my tears carried my prayer.
What hurt most was realizing my children had been exposed to instability and spiritual darkness without me even knowing. As their mother, the weight of protecting them feels almost unbearable at times.
And yet, here I am again, forced to act. To set boundaries. To be the “bad guy.” Because while my ex refuses to see the consequences of his actions, I cannot ignore them. Protecting my children means sacrificing their already fragile “relationship” with their father. It means carrying the burden of being the one who stands in the gap—again.
But here’s the truth God whispered to my heart through all of this:
I was chosen.
Not chosen for the drama. Not chosen for the chaos. But chosen to protect these children. To fight for their spiritual, emotional, and physical well-being.
And even though the storm feels relentless, I know the One who calms the seas is still holding me steady.
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So today, I may not have all the answers. I may not even have the strength on my own. But I do know this: God is still faithful. He has trusted me with this calling—even in the mess—and He will not leave me stranded in it.
If you’re carrying a heavy weight you never asked for, remember this: you are not forgotten. You were chosen for this exact place, this exact moment. And if God brought you to it, He will surely walk you through it.
