Broken Thoughts
When the pressure lifts and the pain spills out
It feels awkward introducing myself after being so open and vulnerable with strangers on the internet—but here we go.
I’m Rebecca. I’m 31, a recovering people-pleaser, and finally starting to come into my own. This piece is the second in a three-part series about untangling the stories I’ve believed for most of my life. (You can read part 1 here.) Though honestly, it didn’t feel like untangling—it felt more like ripping, shredding, and cutting out the pieces I held onto so tightly.
I don’t have the big words or deep theological insights. What I do have is emotion, honesty, and a lot of heart. For a long time, I thought that wasn’t enough. I believed my story didn’t matter. But I’m learning to speak up. I’m learning that my voice is worth hearing—if you want to listen, of course.
I won’t say too much about this piece. I hope it speaks for itself. And if you see yourself in these words, I hope they bring you some peace, some truth, and maybe even some healing.
For most of my life, I wore a mask of perfection. I held myself to a standard I could never reach—and it broke me. It left me anxious, panicked, and exhausted.
In part one, I shared about God not healing my husband. In this piece, I talk about God not healing my mind.
Thank you for being here. If you’ve struggled with any of the things I write about, I hope you’ll consider getting help. Therapy has been life-changing for me—and I believe it can be for you too.
Broken Thoughts
The year was 2020 and the world was falling apart. The year was 2020 and everything went dark — Everything but the flicker of light at the end of the tunnel Things were looking up My husband was working His health was improving My mind was still spinning but I could see the end I could see the finish line Our own place Our own space I can see peace, a path in front of me If we just get into our place– If we just get into our own space. But here is the tricky thing about life: there really isn’t an ending. there isn’t a restart Pain follows you. Scars stay. The brain doesn’t rewire without help, without work without pain Once we left that crowded space, I thought peace would come. I thought the panic would fade. In our own place, I stood in our closet and wept with relief. No one breathing down our necks No more pressure to stay sane. But it was the pressure that kept it all inside. Without it– everything came undone. I no longer had a God to lean on. No more people to please. I didn't have to hide my mess, to put on the perfect act. I no longer had to pretend I wasn’t drowning The pressure was relieved, and all my pain came out freely. I was a falling leaf a twig bending, about to snap– One breeze away from breaking and destroying all that I have. I grasped frantically– for anything to hold me together, Anything I could control. The flickering light didn’t save me. One text sent me spiraling. One wrong word, one act of disobedience and my head would snap “What is wrong with me?” “Why can’t I keep it all inside?” “I’m yelling” “I can’t stop the anxiety” “Somebody please…” “Help.” The voices in my head kept me frozen They kept me ashamed “Don’t burden others Don’t burden your husband– who can finally move again.” But the fog isn’t clearing My brain isn’t computing I don’t feel safe in my own body. I don’t feel seen in my own home. Spinning. Screaming. Crying. “God, why have you forsaken me?” “I’m losing my family because I can’t keep up this facade” It hurts too much the pain wouldn’t go away I flailed– desperately reaching for something anything to keep me sane. But I kept spinning. Spiraling. Hurting my family– Scratching. Squeezing. Desperate to hold onto their love. “Don’t leave me” “I don’t know what’s wrong with me” “I will do better.” “I will be better, I promise.” The alcohol didn’t solve anything. I’d given up on a God to console me. The pain swallowed me. The panic devoured me. And then it all came to a head– I had to choose Get help, or lose everything. How did I get here? How did I let myself fall apart? I am better than this I was raised better than this. Anger is a sin Bitterness will eat you up inside Fear is a demon Deliverance is needed “Push it down Rebecca. Push it down so they can’t see. Don’t let them know how imperfect you are. How mangled How scared How lost you’ve become.” But now– my brokenness is laid out for me. My sin is exposed I’ve hurt my family I’ve lived a life of deceit– performing while breaking those around me My walls have crumbled. My mask is torn. The perfect Rebecca– She is no more. What will happen now, when I tell someone the truth? When I say out loud the fear and fury that I have buried. The church only loved me when I was holy My family saw me as the one to go be a missionary. I had to hold the standard. I had to keep up the act. But now– as I look down at my brokenness, as I look out at my husband hurting I know I need help. It won’t solve it all tomorrow, but it’s a start. A new line in the sand. A new beginning. The start of maybe–just maybe–healing. No more hiding behind perfection No more performing what’s expected I have big emotions and I am allowed to feel them. I am allowed to be angry, to be scared, to be messy. I am allowed to find healing outside of the church. To ask for help To let it all out Therapy doesn’t fix everything But it helps me breathe It teaches me that emotions are real, and thoughts– well… They lie.
If Rebecca’s story resonates with you, we invite you to stick around. There’s more to come. Subscribe to follow along as we continue sharing stories of unraveling, healing, and everything in between.