There are moments when the weight of what we’re carrying feels like too much for one person to hold.
I have been in one of those moments.
Navigating deep challenges in my marriage left me feeling raw in ways I hadn’t anticipated — exposed, uncertain, and deeply tired. And yet, something unexpected happened in the middle of all of it. Instead of finding distance from God, I found myself closer to Him than I had been in a long time. In the stripping away of my defenses, something sacred came through. Vulnerability, as uncomfortable as it is, has a way of opening doors that self-sufficiency keeps firmly shut.
This is what I’ve been learning. And I want to share it with you.
When I stopped trying to carry it by myself.
There is a version of strength I used to believe in. The kind that looks like needing no one. Managing everything gracefully. Never letting the cracks show.
This season has dismantled that version completely.
When the weight of everything became too much to carry quietly, I had no choice but to let people in. And what I found on the other side of that surrender wasn’t weakness — it was the most grounded I have felt in a long time.
Nanay Nedy (our nanny) has been a quiet, steady grace in our home — stepping in to care for Adi and Snowy on the days when I needed space to breathe and heal. My children, as children do, had no idea how much they were anchoring me. I’ve been pulling them away from screens lately — walks, painting sessions, filling the house with color and laughter — and somewhere in the middle of all that, they’ve been pulling me back to life too.
Even Lily (our dog) and Georgia (our cat) have played their part. There is something about the way animals love — no conditions, no memory of yesterday’s bad day, just faithful, uncomplicated presence — that has met me in moments when I didn’t have words for what I needed. On the days when despair crept close, they pressed closer.
God has placed the right people around me. I am finally letting them do what they came to do.
The Faces of God’s Faithfulness.
I want to take a moment to honor the people God has stationed around me in this season — because I don’t think it’s an accident that so many of them showed up at once.
There is Melissa — the coffee, the listening, the not-trying-to-fix-it. She has sat with me in the middle of the mess more than once, and her steady presence has reminded me every time that I am not alone.
And then there are my college friends (Noemi, Mhack and Jude), with whom I had lost touch for the longest time — years of distance, lives moving in different directions. I hadn’t realized how much I missed them until they showed up on my birthday a few weeks ago, choosing to celebrate me in the middle of one of the hardest seasons of my life. No fanfare, no need for long explanations. Just love. And then, as if that weren’t enough, they came back the following week and practically pulled me out the door for a beach trip — the four of us, soaking in sunshine, filling the air with laughter, and rediscovering the kind of easy joy that only old friends can bring back. I came home feeling lighter, and quietly hopeful — for Allen and me.
And then there are my sisters, Jessica and Kimberly. They saw what I perhaps couldn’t see in myself that I had been so consumed by the weight of everything that I had forgotten to take care of the woman underneath it all. They didn’t lecture me or offer advice. They simply said: you need this — and they took me to the salon. Such a small thing, and yet it cracked something open in me. Being reminded that I am worth caring for, that my own softness and joy matter that was its own kind of healing.
And Ate Ging — my guardian, my constant. She has been my emotional anchor through this entire season, the one I could call at any hour, the one whose voice alone has talked me down from some of my hardest moments. There is something irreplaceable about someone who has known you long enough to speak truth into your life with both honesty and love. She has been that for me, and I am endlessly grateful.
And then there was a night when everything became too much that I couldn’t handle anymore — a night I won’t forget for the rest of my life.
Out of nowhere, Ninang Jena called. We don’t speak often, and yet something moved her to reach out at exactly that moment. She prayed over me through the phone, and I felt something shift — something release — in a way I can’t fully explain but knew was real. It was as if God used her voice to reach into the deepest part of my pain and loosen what had been locked tight.
And then, shortly after, there was a knock at our door. Ninang Marcia and Ninong Edwin — our wedding godparents — were standing there. In the middle of the night. I don’t know exactly how they knew. But they came. And their presence after that prayer felt like God saying: I heard you. I am here. Look.
Some things you can’t explain away. That night is one of them.
These people, each one placed in my life with purpose; have collectively reminded me of something I had started to forget: I am loved. Not despite my brokenness, but right in the middle of it.
“A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for a time of adversity.” Proverbs 17:17
This verse has never felt more personal than it does right now.
The closeness I didn’t expect to find.
Here is something I didn’t anticipate about this painful season: it has brought me nearer to God than I have been in a long time.
When I had nothing left to offer — no performance, no put-together version of myself — I came to Him exactly as I was. Broken, tired, uncertain. And He was there. Not with answers to every question, but with a presence that was more than enough.
Two verses from Psalms have become like daily bread for me.
“I sought the Lord, and He heard me, and delivered me from all my fears.” Psalm 34:4 NKJV
And
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” Psalms 34:18 NIV
I return to them not because everything is resolved, but because they remind me that my broken places are not hidden from Him. They are, in fact, where He draws nearest.
That truth has changed how I move through the hard days.
Vulnerability is the doorway, not the defeat.
The most transformative lesson of this season has been this: vulnerability is not the opposite of strength. It is the path to it.
Every time I have allowed myself to be honest — with Allen, with Melissa, with my sisters, with Ate Ging, with the people I love — something has opened up. Connection deepened. Isolation fell away. Courage came, not before the vulnerability, but because of it.
I used to think independence meant solitude. That needing others was something to quietly manage and minimize. But healing has asked me to release that belief entirely. God never designed us to suffer alone. He places people around us with intention — and sometimes He brings people back into our lives at exactly the right moment — and He invites us, gently and persistently, to let them in.
“Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.” 1 Peter 5:7
And in the same breath, He surrounds us with people who are ready to help carry what we cannot hold alone.
For anyone carrying something heavy right now:
You do not have to hold it alone.
Lean into your community. Let someone see the real weight of what you’re carrying. Give yourself permission to be held — by the people God has placed around you, and by God Himself. It is not a retreat from strength. It is the very thing that will restore it.
And don’t be surprised if some of that support comes from the most unexpected places — a sister who drags you to the salon, an old friend who shows up on your birthday, a guardian whose voice reminds you of who you are, a godparent who knocks on your door in the middle of the night. God is intentional like that.
Your vulnerability is not your weakness. It is your doorway.
Walk through it. Healing, connection, and the faithful presence of a God who draws near to the brokenhearted — all of it is waiting on the other side.
Who are the people who have held you up in a hard season? I’d love to hear your story in the comments. 🤍
My Brightest Light 
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