This is your Sign

A week ago, I posted a little teaser about this blog. I knew it was coming—I just didn’t know when I’d be ready to write it.

Honestly, this is something I probably should’ve shared during Mental Health Awareness Month. But sometimes the timing we think is “right” isn’t the timing that’s real. Sometimes healing takes longer. Sometimes the words need to sit in your chest a little longer before they’re ready to be spoken.

This isn’t a pity post—it’s self-awareness.
It’s a reminder that it’s okay to not be okay.
And it’s more than okay to ask for help.

If you’re in a season where everything feels like too much…

If you’re crying more than you’re laughing…

If your chest feels heavy and your thoughts feel loud…

You are not alone. You are enough. It is okay to ask for help.

Some of you know this part of my story. Some don’t.

After I had Jack, I didn’t recognize the signs. I thought I was just tired. Just adjusting. Just figuring it out like every new mom does.

But after Emmy, it was different. I cried all the time. I had chest pains that wouldn’t go away. I felt like I was holding my breath, waiting for something to fall apart. I didn’t feel like myself. I was suffering from postpartum depression and high anxiety—and I didn’t know how to say it out loud.

Eventually, I got help. And slowly, I started to feel like me again. Not the old me, but a steadier, softer version. One who could breathe again. One who could laugh without the weight. One who could say, “I think I’m okay.”

We even started weaning off my anxiety medication. I was excited. Hopeful. I felt more whole. I started getting healthier mentally, emotionally and physically. I started training for the Fargo 10K with a good friend. I was moving forward. I was healing.

And then 2023 came in like a rocket.

Changes happened. Big ones. Fast ones. And not all change is bad—but sometimes your gut knows when something isn’t right. And mine did.

Sometimes we get stuck in our heads.

“I should’ve known.”
“Wish I would’ve spoken up.”
“I could’ve handled that better.”
“What if I had just stayed quiet?”

It’s easy to spiral. Easy to replay the moments, the decisions, the silence. Easy to wonder if we missed it—if we messed it up—if we were too much or not enough.

December 3 will mark two years since I was let go from a job I’d been at for nearly 11 years. I didn’t see it coming. I was blindsided. Hurt. And for a while, I carried that ache quietly.

I’ve always been someone who gets along with just about anyone. I trust my gut. I can usually tell if someone’s going to be a good fit. And a few months in, I knew something was off. My values didn’t line up anymore. The longer I stayed, the more I felt it. My instinct was right.

But I stayed. I tried. I questioned myself—because when you’re told one thing and then told you’re always wrong, it messes with your sense of truth. It makes you doubt what you know. It makes you wonder if you’re the problem.

When you’re told you’re worthless, you’re not trusted behind closed doors but praised in front of others—it chips away at your confidence. It confuses your spirit. It makes you feel like you’re living two versions of yourself, and neither one feels safe.

And no one deserves to be mentally torn apart like that. No one should have to wonder if their worth is conditional.

And for the 10K I was training for—I made it to Fargo. I showed up. But I couldn’t bring myself to run it. I questioned whether I could even do it, even though I had trained. The thoughts in my head tore me down. My mind kept whispering, “You can’t.” And I believed it.

I often think back—what if I had left sooner? What if I had trusted myself more?

But here’s what I know now: I’m better because of it.

I’ve learned so much about who I am. About what I’m worth. About what I’ll never settle for again. And if you’re in that place—wondering if you missed it, wondering if you’re broken—I want you to hear this:

You’re not.
You’re becoming.
You’re healing.
You’re growing.

After I was let go, people had their opinions. Some were kind. Some weren’t. Some doubted me. Some whispered things I’ll never forget. But others spoke life. And those words? They helped me keep going.

It took me two years to find my footing again. To find the “new me.” To find my place in the workforce. And I’m so grateful for the opportunities that helped me rebuild, not just my career, but my confidence.

So if you’ve been waiting for a sign—this is it.

Not to rush.
Not to prove anything.
But to breathe.
To forgive yourself.
To take one small step forward.

Because grace doesn’t expire.
Obedience isn’t a race.
And healing doesn’t follow a timeline.

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” — Psalm 34:18

So, write the thing. Send the message. Take the step.

And when the “what ifs” come back? Whisper back: “Even now, I’m still held.”

You are not alone. You are enough. It is okay to ask for help.

Until next time—keep stepping. Keep trusting. Keep kindling.

With love and grace,
—Andrena