A year ago, I started this blog and then disappeared.
At least, that’s probably what it looked like from the outside.
The truth is, I wasn’t gone. I was rebuilding.
I just didn’t realize it at the time.
A year earlier, I had written about some of those first steps in The First Steps in Restoring My Strength. I just couldn’t see yet where they were leading.
When I look back over the last year, I struggle to put it into words because so much happened. Not just events, but changes. Some were obvious. Others were happening quietly beneath the surface.
Looking back, I can see the pieces
My oldest daughter turned eighteen.
We took a trip to Pensacola with my best friend and stayed right on the beach. We slept with the balcony door cracked open so we could hear the waves at night. It was one of the most peaceful trips I’ve ever taken, and for a few days life felt simple.
That summer, my daughter and I got our first tattoos together.
They are matching butterfly tattoos. Individually they are beautiful, but together they form a complete butterfly.
For me, they symbolize survival, transformation, and the reminder that healing is often something we walk through together.
I completed a graduate-level data analytics course that challenged me in ways I didn’t expect. It wasn’t just about learning technical skills. It taught me how to recognize patterns, organize information, and see connections I would have missed before.
Looking back, I can see how those same skills are now helping me study Scripture in ways I never could before.
I spent several months studying real estate and completed the coursework. I never pursued the license, but I don’t regret the experience. Sometimes a path teaches you something valuable even when it isn’t the one you’re meant to stay on.
I made peace with my sister after months of distance.
I reorganized my home, my living room, my pantry, and my routines. Looking back, I think I was doing more than organizing a house. I was trying to create stability in my life.
At the same time, I continued dealing with harassment, stress, uncertainty, and challenges that often felt overwhelming.
And somewhere in the middle of all that, I started changing.
One of the strangest parts of that change involved my hair.
For the first time in many years, I went blonde.
That might not sound important, but it was.
I was a natural blonde growing up, and I hadn’t worn my hair blonde since I was with my ex-husband. For years after leaving that chapter of my life, I wore vivid colors. Pink became part of my identity. It became part of my healing.
When I first went blonde again, I loved it.
It felt like reconnecting with a version of myself I hadn’t seen in years.
For a while, I thought I was reclaiming something that had been lost.
Then one day I looked in the mirror and realized something unexpected.
I didn’t recognize myself.
Not because the blonde looked bad.
Not because there was anything wrong with it.
I realized I was trying to reconnect with a version of myself that no longer existed.
The woman I was before everything happened wasn’t coming back.
Life had changed me.
The years had changed me.
The struggles had changed me.
And no hair color was going to take me backward.
When I went back to pink, I remember looking in the mirror while the color was still processing and thinking, “There she is.”
For the first time in months, I felt like I could see myself again.
But even that wasn’t the end of the story.
Recently I changed my hair again, this time to a deep red.
Originally it was a practical decision. I was considering a new role and wondered if a more traditional color might be better received professionally.
What surprised me was how much I loved it.
The blonde felt like I was trying to revisit the past.
The pink felt familiar and comforting.
The red felt different.
The red felt new.
For the first time, I wasn’t trying to go back to who I used to be.
I wasn’t even trying to hold on to who I was last year.
I was becoming someone new.
The last few months changed everything
Two months ago, I got my second tattoo: a set of keys.
To most people, they are simply artwork.
To me, they are connected to a dream from years ago and a season of life that changed me in ways I am still discovering. They remind me that some doors close, some doors open, and sometimes we don’t understand the significance of a moment until much later.
The last few months have brought some of the biggest changes of all.
I started making healthier choices.
I drastically reduced my sugar intake.
I started praying more.
I started listening to Scripture again.
I started talking to God throughout the day instead of only during designated prayer times.
Most importantly, I finally picked up a study that had been sitting on my list for months: Identity in Christ.
I expected a Bible study. What I found was a mirror.
The deeper I study, the more I realize how much fear, shame, trauma, rejection, and life experience have shaped the way I see myself.
And the more I study what Scripture actually says about who we are in Christ, the more things begin to shift.
I’m less angry than I was.
I worry less than I did.
The things that once consumed my attention seem smaller now.
Not because my problems disappeared.
Because my perspective is changing.
What restoration really means…
For the first time in a long time, I feel excited about where God may be leading me.
I don’t have everything figured out.
I don’t know exactly where this blog is going.
I don’t know exactly what this study will become.
What I do know is that when I look back over the last year, I don’t see a year of disappearing.
I see a year of rebuilding.
And maybe that’s the biggest lesson I’ve learned.
For a long time, I thought restoration meant getting back to who I used to be.
Now I think restoration is something different.
Restoration isn’t always about going back.
Sometimes it’s about moving forward.
With hope,
Raven