Battling the Enemies Within

This week has been one of the most challenging weeks of my life.

Honestly, this has been the most challenging season of my life.

And I know I talk about hope. I know I write about healing. I know I encourage people to keep going, to get up, to believe God still has more, to trust that grace and mercy are still meeting us in the morning.

But this week reminded me of something I cannot ignore:

Sometimes, while you are dealing hope, you can forget yourself.

Sometimes, while you are pouring into everybody else, you can miss the fact that you are empty.

Sometimes, while you are building legacy, creating purpose, honoring your pain, and trying to make sure your babies’ names are never forgotten, you can forget that you are still grieving too.

And by “you,” I mean me.

I am in a sacred place.

A sacred time.

A sacred season.

I am still mothering my children beyond the grave and beyond heaven’s gates. I am building something from them, through them, and for them. I am creating legacy so Darren and Jaxon’s names will never be forgotten. So their lives will still speak. So their love will still move. So their story will still help somebody else breathe.

But in the middle of wanting this so badly, I got caught up.

I got caught up in wanting the vision to happen.

Wanting the purpose to make sense.

Wanting the pain to mean something.

Wanting to help somebody.

Wanting to prove that all of this suffering was not wasted.

And somewhere in that, I forgot myself.

I forgot to give myself the same grace I keep telling everybody else to hold on to.

I started battling enemies within.

The enemy of negative self-talk.

The enemy of “you’re not doing enough.”

The enemy of “you’re not helping anybody.”

The enemy of “this is too much.”

The enemy of “everything is against you.”

The enemy of “maybe you’re not strong enough for this.”

And let me be clear: we call him by many names.

The enemy.

Lucifer.

Satan.

The devil.

Bad energy.

Darkness.

A lying spirit.

Whatever name you call it, I know this: he got in.

And I had to put him out.

Because this week, I was not myself. Not fully. Not the woman God has been rebuilding. Not the mother still standing. Not the Hope Dealer. Not the Shantrael who has survived things that should have taken her mind, her faith, and her breath.

And sometimes you need your village to remind you who you are when grief makes you forget.

My village showed up for me this week in ways I cannot even fully write. Things were heavy. Heavy in my mind. Heavy in my body. Heavy in my spirit. Heavy in places I did not even know needed lifting.

And my village lifted me.

They reminded me, gently and lovingly, “This is not you.”

And they were right.

That was not me.

That was grief talking.

That was exhaustion talking.

That was the enemy whispering.

That was pain trying to make a home in a place God is still healing.

And I am so grateful they saw me. Not the strong version. Not the public version. Not the one who always has the words. They saw the woman underneath all of that, and they loved her back to herself.

I pray everybody has a village equal to mine or better.

And if you do not, join the tribe.

Because none of us were meant to battle alone.

This is what I want you to know: grace is sufficient for all.

Not just for the people you love.

Not just for the people you serve.

Not just for the people you encourage.

Not just for the people you keep showing up for.

Grace is sufficient for you too.

Even when you are tired.

Even when you are unsure.

Even when you are questioning everything.

Even when hope and hopelessness are sitting in the same room.

Even when you know God is good, but your heart is still broken.

Even when you are grateful and grieving.

Even when you are chosen and exhausted.

Grace is still sufficient.

It is okay to tell yourself, “It’s okay.”

It is okay to receive grace from others.

It is okay to admit, “I am not okay today, but I am still here.”

It is okay to rest without guilt.

It is okay to need lifting, even when you are usually the lifter.

It is okay to be reminded that you are human.

The enemy wants us to believe that needing grace means we are weak. But needing grace means we are alive. It means we are still becoming. It means God is still covering what we cannot carry by ourselves.

So this week, I had to stop.

I had to breathe.

I had to repent for being so hard on myself.

I had to receive love.

I had to let my village hold me.

And I had to remember that the same grace I preach, write about, and give away so freely is the same grace I am allowed to keep for myself.

So to the one battling enemies within:

You are not crazy.

You are not weak.

You are not failing.

You are not too much.

You are not forgotten.

You are in a battle, yes.

But you are also covered.

And the enemy may get in for a moment, but he does not get to stay.

Put him out.

Speak truth over yourself again.

Let your village love you.

Let God restore you.

And while you are giving grace to others, please do not forget to give some to yourself.

Because grace is sufficient for all.

Even you.

Especially you.

P.S. Accountability Matters Too

Before I go, there is one more thing I need to say.

Healing is not just about surviving. It's also about accountability.

One thing grief has taught me is that hurt people really do hurt people. Not always intentionally. Not always maliciously. But hurt has a way of leaking out of the places we haven't fully healed yet.

If I'm being honest, I've been on an apology tour.

This season has broken me in ways I never thought possible. I've experienced losses that changed me forever. I've been disappointed by people I trusted. Betrayed by people I loved and thought loved me. I've carried anger, sadness, confusion, and disappointment all at the same time.

And while grief may explain some things, it doesn't excuse everything.

Grief presents anger.

But anger should never be allowed to consume us.

The people who truly love you will often extend grace. They will understand when you are not yourself. They will recognize the weight you're carrying. But at the end of the day, we still have to live with ourselves. We still have to look in the mirror. We still have to take ownership of the moments when our pain spilled onto people who didn't deserve it.

So to anyone I have hurt during my grief journey, please accept my sincere apology.

Not because I am ashamed of grieving.

Not because I am ashamed of struggling.

But because I never want my pain to become someone else's burden to carry.

I am still human.

I am still healing.

I am still learning how to navigate a life I never asked for.

And some days I get it right. Some days I don't.

But I am committed to doing the work.

The beautiful thing about grace is that it doesn't just cover our brokenness. It gives us the courage to acknowledge it.

So I will keep apologizing when necessary.

I will keep growing.

I will keep extending grace.

And I will keep receiving it.

Because even in the worst season of my life, God has been good.

Even in the valley, God has been faithful.

Even through unimaginable loss, God has been merciful.

To God be the glory.

He's not done with me yet.

And if you're reading this, He's not done with you either.

— Shantrael