Newest from the Hope Blog
May 25, 2025
Dear Younger Me
Communication, Pain & Purpose, PTSD
August 2, 2025
If any song lyrics ever hit close to home, it would definitely be these ones:
“Dear younger me,
Where do I start?
If I could tell you everything that I have learned so far
Then you could be
One step ahead
Of all the painful memories still running through my head.”
— MercyMe, “Dear Younger Me”
When people hear about my personal marriage journey, they may initially feel pity. They might see a weak person—someone who didn’t have the strength to leave, to stand, to carry life alone. They may see someone easily manipulated, taken advantage of, and stuck in fear and misery.
They may paint my husband as the villain of our story. After all, he did make epic mistakes that feel unforgivable: lies, betrayal, and a baby that isn’t biologically mine.
But what if the story was told from a different perspective?
What if the story begins with a young teen off to war, who returns home to marry his high school sweetheart? Then, the images of war haunt him day and night. That same young man and his wife have a baby, and life becomes busy. His needs get lost in the shuffle. The silence from his wife starts to feel like disinterest… like lack of love… like lack of support.
From that lens, I could quickly become the villain of the story. My husband was never abusive—not physically, emotionally, or in any other form—but he was hurting. He was overwhelmed, unseen, and silently unraveling. The warning signs of trauma were there, but I missed them. Not because I didn’t care, but because I didn’t fully understand what I was seeing. I was in survival mode myself—busy, exhausted, trying to hold everything together—and somewhere along the way, we both stopped truly hearing each other.
The truth? We both made mistakes. We both had unmet needs. We both carried pain we didn’t know how to name.
But we also both chose to stay. We chose to learn. To grow. To fight—not against each other, but for each other.
We learned that marriage isn’t 50/50. It’s 100/100. You show up fully for each other. Every day. And when—not if, but when—one of you stumbles, the other picks up the weight without resentment, without blame. Just with love and understanding.
This isn’t a fairytale. It’s real, raw, and sometimes heartbreaking. But it’s ours. And I wouldn’t trade what we’ve built—the scars, the healing, the strength—for anything.
To my younger self:
You’ll be okay.
You’ll walk through fire, but you’ll come out stronger.
And love… real love… will meet you there.
And it’s because we’ve walked through the fire that we choose to volunteer with Hope in a Hopeless World. We’ve lived through seasons of pain, silence, heartbreak, and redemption. We know what it’s like to feel lost, and we know how powerful it is to be seen, supported, and believed in.
We can’t fix everything for everyone, but we can offer something real—authentic support that comes from lived experience. That’s what Hope in a Hopeless World is about: showing up, holding space, and reminding people they’re not alone.
There’s always hope—even when it feels hopeless.
And sometimes, the most broken pieces become the strongest ones.
When the Little Things Add Up
Anxiety, Parenting, Thankfulness, You are not alone
July 4, 2025
Lately, it feels like I’ve been in a season where one hard thing after another just keeps piling on. It’s not one big crisis—it’s a dozen small and medium ones that build up into a mountain of sorrow, stress, and exhaustion.
Low paychecks. Bills stacking up. No insurance, which leads to medication delays. And those delays? They don’t just mess with my schedule—they come with real physical and emotional withdrawal symptoms. Then there are the long work hours, the ongoing stress of co-parenting and custody issues, and the pain of having lies spread about me.
Sometimes it feels like I just can’t catch a break.
But then… the little things start showing up.
A free coffee reward at Starbucks.
Someone dropping off my favorite cookies.
A simple “thank you” or “I’m grateful for you” from someone I love.
Belly laughs with my family early in the morning when no one’s trying too hard—just being together.
An unexpected gift from a friend that feels generous in more ways than one.
Feeling heard, understood, and accepted at a support group.
They don’t fix everything. They don’t erase the weight I’m carrying. But they matter.
These little moments remind me that not everything is going wrong. They offer small glimpses of hope, like tiny rungs on a ladder. And slowly, rung by rung, I can start to climb that mountain—maybe not to the top all at once, but far enough to catch my breath. Far enough to get a glimpse of the beauty and purpose that still exist, even in hard seasons.
So if you’re feeling buried under the weight of the “little things” that have gone wrong, look for the little things that are going right. They might be just enough to help you keep going.
What little moments have helped you keep going lately?
Take a moment to journal about them—or share one with us in the comments or a message. You never know who might need the reminder that they’re not alone. 💙
Sitting with Pain
Anxiety, Depression, Hope, Pain & Purpose, You are not alone
June 9, 2025
“Why does it have to be me?!” my oldest child cried out, hunched over the toilet in pain.
My heart ached with empathy. My immediate internal reaction was something like, “Well, this kind of thing happens to everyone eventually.” But I quickly caught myself—because when we’re in pain, those kinds of truths don’t always help.
In the thick of discomfort, logic often falls flat. Pain doesn’t want reason—it wants relief, or at the very least, to be seen.
And I realized: maybe the most helpful response is somewhere in between our gut reactions and our attempts to fix things.
Maybe what we need is simple, compassionate presence. A gentle middle ground.
So I sat beside him and said, “It’s painful… and it will pass.”
No magic fix. No denying the reality of what he was feeling. Just a moment of shared humanness and hope.
As I sat with him, I couldn’t help but think about how often this happens in life—not just with stomachaches, but with heartbreak, anxiety, grief, and all the other invisible pains we carry.
How often do we, or the people we love, cry out in frustration or despair:
“Why me?”
“Why now?”
“Why this?”
And how often do we scramble to respond with advice, solutions, or silver linings?
“Everything happens for a reason.”
“At least it’s not worse.”
“You’ll get through it.”
These words usually come from a place of love, but they can land wrong—too soon, too sharp, too distant. When someone is in the depths of pain, what they need most isn’t a roadmap out. They need to know they’re not alone inside it.
We don’t have to fix everything. We can meet others right where they are—with presence, not pressure.
“This hurts.”
“I see you.”
“You’re not alone in this.”
“It’s hard right now.”
There’s quiet power in that kind of response. A power that heals in small, steady ways. It doesn’t change the pain, but it changes the experience of carrying it.
Sometimes the most healing thing we can offer ourselves and others is our presence and a quiet reminder: This is hard… and it will pass.
When Fear Stares Back
Anxiety, PTSD
May 25, 2025
I could feel eyes on me, even though I couldn’t see them. Was it just my imagination running wild again? My constant hypervigilance — the kind that used to feel like a full-time job — had been quiet lately, almost dormant. Still, the old instincts stirred. My dog wasn’t reacting, which used to be my trusted sign that everything was fine. But she’s getting older now, and her sharp senses have softened with time, just like mine have.
The sense that we weren’t alone gripped me anyway, humming in my chest like a warning bell. But we continued forward into the stillness of our dimly lit, secluded yard. Night walks like these had become a ritual — not always welcome, but necessary — thanks to aging bladders and unpredictable sleep cycles. The air was thick with silence, not peaceful, but eerie. Even the trees seemed to lean in, listening.
As she began circling her third potential bathroom spot, I felt a ripple of annoyance mixed with anxiety. Could she please just pick one already? Finally, she settled. Relief washed over me. Soon I’d be back under warm blankets, safe from whatever strange tension was crawling up my spine.
I glanced up from the dark grass — and froze.
Another set of eyes met mine. Deep black, oval-shaped, staring back from a light-brown, fur-covered face. A deer. Statuesque. Still.
We locked eyes, both unmoving. Neither of us expected the other. It had let us get so close — too close — without bolting. Why?
I became aware of the tightness in my shoulders, the tension in my jaw. I was holding my breath.
Meanwhile, my dog, nose to the ground, remained blissfully unaware, lost in the comforting routine of sniffing and sorting smells. I gently redirected her back toward the house, glancing once more over my shoulder. The deer hadn’t moved. It stood frozen, just like I had moments before.
Fear has a way of wrapping itself around even the quietest moments. It doesn’t always scream. Sometimes it whispers — through the hairs standing up on the back of your neck or the tightening in your chest. Sometimes it’s a deer staring at you from the dark, daring you to notice what your body already knows.
But here’s what that moment reminded me: our senses are wise, but they are not always precise. They carry the echoes of our past — trauma, stress, loss, learned vigilance. They serve us by being alert, but if we don’t learn to meet them with curiosity instead of panic, they can also lead us astray.
Just like I didn’t bolt when I sensed something, just like the deer didn’t flee when it saw us — we both paused. We noticed. We waited. There was a silent agreement in that moment that movement wasn’t the answer — presence was.
This is something I’ve been learning in my own mental health journey: to be aware of what I feel without letting it define the story. To trust my instincts, but not to let them run unchecked. To ask: What am I really afraid of? Is this fear asking for action — or attention?
Sometimes, like that deer, we need to pause in stillness. Sometimes, like my old dog, we just need to do what’s in front of us — smell the ground, go through our routine — and keep moving. And sometimes, like me on that cold night, we need to trust that we can feel afraid and still return to safety without running.
That night, nothing dramatic happened. But it stuck with me. Because it reminded me that fear doesn’t always mean danger. Sometimes, it just means be here now.
And that’s enough.
The Lilacs Are in Bloom
Hope
May 19, 2025
“The lilacs are in bloom!” I said as we pulled into the driveway. My husband rolled to a stop in front of the burst of purple blossoms. He smiled knowingly.
From the back seat came a chorus of confusion:
“Why did we stop?”
“What’s going on?”
And then, as realization set in, one of the boys said, “Oh… it’s mom’s flowers.”
We paused there for just a few seconds, then continued down the long driveway and into the garage.
As I walked from the garage to the house, I noticed how light and hopeful I suddenly felt—especially compared to earlier in the day. Lately, the days and weeks have felt heavy. Hard. Sluggish. This particular week had been full of worries and an overloaded schedule. The daily grind can feel like reliving the same day over and over, without getting anywhere.
But the lilacs are in bloom.
It’s a reminder that we are moving forward. The days are changing. We are going somewhere.
Lilacs, for me, carry the weight of memory. They remind me of the generations that came before, and the ones still to come. We’re all connected. Each of us trudging through similar day-to-day struggles—and somehow, we keep going.
Just like my lilac-loving grandma, who weathered her share of life’s storms, so will I.
Sometimes, all it takes is to literally stop and smell the roses.
Or in my case… the lilacs.
Mental Wellness Reflection:
It’s easy to get lost in the rhythm of responsibility—days blurring together under the weight of stress, caregiving, deadlines, or simply trying to stay afloat. But moments of pause, like noticing flowers in bloom, can ground us in the present and remind us of something essential: change is happening, even if we can’t always see it.
This week, take a moment to look for your own “lilacs”—a sign of movement, of growth, of beauty quietly unfolding. These small pauses can reconnect us to ourselves and to the bigger picture.
You’re not stuck. You’re becoming.
Hope in the Darkness
Hope, You are not alone
January 5, 2025
Complete darkness. My eyes search for light, any light to guide my path. I know the general direction back, so I turn to the left and step cautiously in the direction of the cabin. Rounding the corner I see the speckle of light. As I get closer the light becomes brighter, and the outline of the cabin is visible. Illuminated under the porch light, I see what I am searching for; Hope.
In this case it is a metal sign with those 4 letters spelt out indicating that I am at the right cabin. As I walk into the Hope Cabin, I am welcomed by a sense of safety. The warmth of the fire greets me as I take my spot on the couch across from my friend in the rocking chair. We continue our conversation on the meaning of hope and how it relates to the HHW mission. We reflect on the support we offer and how many times the people we meet are often in a dark or low place. Isolation and loneliness are both a symptom and cause of mental illness.
Instead of feeling discouraged during these encounters, we feel hopeful because we know there is a path to healing through connection. We enter the dark and hopeless places to help find and guide others to hope. As we enter a new year, we are purposefully planning opportunities for connection, including our support groups and hope connection events.
We are here and we are willing to walk in the darkness.
Together we can be the HOPE in a hopeless world.
2023 Refresh & Renew: A Spring Wellness Day
Events
May 22, 2023
Our 2023 Refresh & Renew, A Spring Wellness Day was a success! The birds were chirping, the sun was shining, and it was the perfect 70 degree day.
Mindfulness
We started the day by practicing the difficult skill of mindfulness. Mindfulness is about awareness and acceptance of the present moment. Noticing the things around you and happening within you. It can include noticing physical sensations, thoughts, and feelings. Along with noticing, comes the acceptance or non-judgement of these items. For example, if I am feeling anxious. I might say to myself (or aloud) “I am noticing that I feel anxious right now.” I am not viewing this as good or bad and I am not trying to change it. Mindfulness is a practice that gets easier over time the more we use it in everyday activities.
We had the opportunity to intentionally practice mindfulness while putting our own flower arrangements together with flowers from Old Silo Flower Farm.
Tips for practicing mindfulness:
Use your 5 senses to notice what you see, hear, smell, feel, and taste. Describe in detail your observations either to yourself, to someone else around you, or by writing it down.
Guided Journaling
Sometimes our own conscious or unconscious thoughts are getting in the way of true rest and renewal preventing us from moving forward. Participants were guided through journal prompts and invited to create a Self-Compassion Intention. The single word or phrase was painted on a rock as a solid reminder to take back to everyday life.
Breathing Techniques
At times we can unintentionally practice anxiety breathing when we breathe shallowly into our chest. At our wellness day we had breath taking views, but we still took the opportunities to breathe deep from our stomachs and practiced breathing techniques that help to calm the mind and body.
Nature Meditation
Amber with Sweet Spirit Yoga + Retreats shared one of her many gifts with us by guiding us through a nature experience that allowed us all to slow down and appreciate our surroundings. The benefits of nature are many and the dedicated time spent in nature without electronics, expectations, or responsibilities was refreshing.
Sound Bath
Sound baths have many benefits including reducing anxiety, lowering heart rate and blood pressure, boosting the immune system, lessening stress, and more.
Jennie Ruth shared her gift of sounds with us in this beautiful outdoor setting. It was a wonderful way to close the day.
THANK YOU to everyone that attended, donated, & contributed their time and talents! We are so grateful for you all!
Constantly Moving
ADHD/ADD, Parenting
September 3, 2021
“Your son is a disruption to the class. He is constantly moving and making noises.” The kindergarten teacher sounded exhausted. Even through the video call, I could tell that she was frustrated.
The words were not at all a surprise.
I continued to listen to the kindergarten teacher go on about our six year old’s inability to follow rules, listen to direction, and be respectful of others. My heart ached for my son. I know underneath the hyper, constant moving body, is a sweet, caring, and empathetic boy.
It wasn’t the first time we have heard this reaction. Previous daycare teachers shared similar reports. In fact we at home have experienced the same situations. Constant moving, running in circles, inability to sit for longer than one minute, easily distracted.
I tried to be proactive and shared this information at the start of the school year with his Kindergarten teacher. Over the years I had also mentioned concerns to his pediatrician. I had spent countless hours reading articles and books and doing google searches on my son’s behavior and how to help him.
The interventions and suggestions just didn’t seem to make a difference. Everyone seemed quick to point out that my son was loud and distracting, but no one had any suggestions on how to help him.
He was seen as an inconvenience.
Later that same day, I pulled up to the elementary school and waited in the line of cars to pick up my son. I spotted him slowly walking toward the car, shoulders hunched over. He looked defeated. I smiled and waved to him and he did a quick lift of his hand to wave back but he didn’t smile.
I watch in the rear view mirror as he climbs into the car, buckles up, and then the tears start rolling down his face.
I am not surprised, this has been common lately.
“Hey bud, it looks like you had another tough day,” I say softly.
“Yeah. No one at school likes me. They all think I am stupid.”
My heart ached as, I pulled the car over to a nearby parking lot. I held my child’s hand, and did my best to comfort him.
Something had to change. We could not keep sending our 6 year old to school for him to come home feeling like he is a burden and unworthy.
After several conversations with his teacher, family, other parents, and his pediatrician, it was determined that he met criteria for Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD) diagnosis. While the diagnoses made sense, the controversy that comes with this label had my mind spinning. Thoughts about over-diagnosis, medication side effects, treatment options, experiences and opinions of others, all had me wondering what to do next.
My husband and I discussed all the options and spoke with our family, friends, and pediatrician. We carefully considered the pros and cons. Ultimately, we decided to try medication in combination with therapy. We noticed the immediate impact with his treatment. We saw improvement in his grades, his interest in the things around him, his relationship with others including his younger brother, and his appetite.
He could focus on reading, writing, eating, holding a conversation, and playing games. He was actually enjoying things around him, instead of running in circles and moving from one distraction to the next.
It was a great reminder that while there may be stigma, over-diagnosis, and other dialogues occurring, that should not stop us from advocating for and trying things that our bodies need.
ADHD medication for our child turned out to be life changing for him. Even he, at his young age, notices the difference in his body. He comments on feeling calm and in control.
Sometimes what is right for others is not what is right for you. Don’t let fear stop you from making the right choice for you and your family.
Author:
Crystal
Cupboard Doors
Anxiety, OCD
June 30, 2021
Walking into the house, I immediately noticed the two kitchen cupboard doors that were left open.
It’s fine. I think to myself. Cupboard doors are not a big deal.
I walk past the kitchen, I stop in the living room to greet my two boys who are overjoyed to see me and then I head toward the bedroom to change out of my work clothes.
The cupboard doors are not hurting anything. They can stay open. The thoughts won’t stop. I have a strong urge to shut the cupboard doors. Everything must be in order.
I walk back outside to join my wife on the front patio. As we are talking about our day, the frustration, fear, and anxiety continue to rise in my chest. During a break in conversation, I walk back inside and briskly walk to the kitchen shutting the two kitchen cupboard doors. The anxiety lifts slightly, but the frustration remains.
Why do I have this obsessive need to have everything in order? Where does the fear of things being out of order come from? And why can I not control these thoughts?
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder was a confusing disorder for me to understand when I was first diagnosed. I now understand that I have unwanted thoughts and sensations that occur within my body that cause me to repeat or fixate on order and perfection. Sometimes the sensations that occur within my body are unconscious making it extra confusing.
At the surface, it feels like tragedy will occur if things are not in the perfect order. Something tragic will happen if I do not close the cupboard doors. Rationally I understand that nothing horrible is going to occur if those cupboard doors are left open. Sometimes I even laugh at myself for this absurd thought.
However, when I think through the root cause for this development, I gain more insight into what is occurring. My body has a good memory. Sometimes my body remembers things better than my mind.
Tracing this reaction back to years ago. Things being out of order in the military especially on deployment to Iraq, often meant that tragedy could and would occur. While I may not be fully aware in the moment that cupboard doors or other things out of order are causing a trigger response from past experiences, my body remembers the out of control feeling.
OCD is a mental illness that can be confusing to live with and has many myths and misunderstandings surrounding it. For me, understanding what is occurring is a good first step in coping. I still struggle with managing these symptoms but have a better understanding of what’s going on and am able to not let it control my everyday life.
Author: Job
Healed
Bipolar
May 24, 2021
While ringing up the wrapping paper and first birthday card for our nephew, the cashier asks, “Would you like a bag?”
“No thank you.” I respond. “Unless it started raining again…” I add looking out the front of the store at the clouds in the sky.
“Yeah, Mother Nature is so bipolar.” The cashier says with a chuckle. I grit my teeth, quickly take my receipt and head out the door. The weather isn’t bipolar, but I am. I thought to myself as I got into my car.
I really wish people wouldn’t use mental illnesses as adjectives. This has always been a serious pet peeve of mine. Whether it is to describe a person that is acting irrationally or a way to joke about Minnesota’s weather, it is not accurate, and it is not funny. Bipolar disorder is a real illness that real people wake up with and manage every single day. I know I am ultra-sensitive to this. And I know most people aren’t trying to be offensive. I know strangers and
acquaintances can’t tell that my mood fluctuates throughout the day and with the seasons. So, I should just lighten up, right? Well, no. We need to watch our words. We need to be kind. We need to be mindful of the truth that those around us may be struggling or may have gone through something in the past that is still affecting them today.
I usually just let these comments roll off my back. If they know me, I get that side-ways glance, with the apologetic look that says, “Whoops, I shouldn’t have said that.” It’s fine, I think to myself. They didn’t mean anything personal by it. Maybe they just momentarily forgot because I’m doing well, I’m stable. Some would even consider me in recovery from my mental illness, but can you really be healed from a mental illness? Can you be healed from an unpredictable beast that once landed you in a psychiatric hospital and requires daily management to keep you from ending up there again?
Satan wants me to believe that I’m not healed and never will be. He drops these hurtful words off the tongues of man to trip me up. He whispers that my bipolar disorder has a strong-hold on me that will prevent me from living out my dreams. But, guess what, Satan? While I may have the internal scars and three little pills that remind me daily what I’m up against, my heart is healed and I have been made whole. I have been healed by a loving, never failing, powerful God. He has taken my pain, my wounds and my imperfections and woven them together
beautifully to be used for His glory. And the best thing about healing is that it is available to all of us.
We know that the hurts of this world leave scars that can be devastating and life changing. We may feel as though nothing will ever change or get better. We may fear that we will never feel like ourselves again. Don’t believe the lies Satan uses to distract us. If we put our faith and trust in the ultimate healer, we will be made whole again.
“Jesus turned and saw her. “Take heart, daughter,” he said, “your faith has healed you.” And the woman was healed at that moment.” Matthew 9:22