When Breathing Feels Hard

A Summer Invitation

Over Memorial Day weekend, my husband, Russ, and I planted 30 trees in our front yard.

It wasn’t what I’d call restful or relaxing, but it was productive.

It’s that time of year here in the Midwest when the ugly yellow of dandelions has given way to those delicate white fronds. In the middle of our planting, I looked down and noticed one lone poofy dandelion standing tall in the yard.

Somehow—after weeks of mowing—it had survived.

I smiled. The white puff of the dandelion always reminds me of my book cover.

Last year at this time, I was in the final stages of publishing Breathing Again. The manuscript was done, and I was waiting on final edits.

This year feels different.

My book baby just turned six months old. And while I’ve been writing regularly for my faith reconstruction people, I haven’t spent much time nurturing the book itself.

That little dandelion reminded me of the years when I struggled to breathe deeply—when it felt impossible to take in enough air to blow even one puff from a dandelion like I did when I was a little girl.

Not literally—but spiritually, emotionally, and mentally—I felt winded. Knocked flat. Buried under shame, confusion, and questions that didn’t have easy answers. The version of faith I’d inherited—one that promised certainty, safety, and clarity—no longer held up under the weight of my lived experience.

Maybe you’ve been there too.

Maybe you’ve whispered prayers like, God, where are you? or Why does this hurt so much if you’re good? Maybe you’ve wrestled with doubt, grieved the church’s failures, or felt like your spiritual life was unraveling faster than you could hold it together.

In the Introduction to Breathing Again, I share the story of renovating a house with my dad—and how part of that process is deciding what to keep and what to tear out. Faith reconstruction is like that. It involves demolition. But also discernment. What stays? What goes?

For me, it meant letting go of the years I spent holding my breath, hoping I’d somehow be “enough.” Performing enough. Serving enough. Obeying enough. Earning enough of God’s love.

Enough. Enough. Enough.

In the demolition of my faith, I had to throw away that desperate quest for “enough” and rebuild something new—a faith where who I am is enough.

If you’ve been there too, Breathing Again was written for you.

This summer, I’m doing something different. I’m taking a break from my regular writing rhythm to nurture this little book. Each week, I’ll share a reflection on one chapter—digging deeper, offering fresh perspective, and inviting you to walk with me.

If you haven’t read Breathing Again, now’s a great time to join the journey. You can grab it here:
👉 Amazon Link

Let’s take a breath together.