Grief, Grit, and God: Holding On While Finding My Way

Grief, grit, and God, that’s what has been carrying me.

There are seasons in life that change you forever, seasons that don’t just pass through you, but reshape how you think, how you feel, and how you show up in the world. For me, that season was walking through my daughter Jahmya’s 40-day hospital admission, and then facing the unimaginable reality of her transition.

For 40 days, I held on to hope with everything in me.

Hope in the doctors,

hope in the treatment,

hope in God.

I prayed prayers that came from the deepest parts of my soul. I believed. I trusted. I stood in faith even when fear tried to take over. And even when the outcome didn’t look like what I had prayed for, I can honestly say this:

I never lost my faith.

Not then,

not even now.

But faith doesn’t always look the same.

As we moved into a new year, 2026, something shifted in me. Not my belief in God, but my connection to the Word. I found myself drifting, not because I didn’t love God, but because I was tired, mentally, emotionally, spiritually.

Grief took a toll on my mind in ways I wasn’t prepared for.

The thoughts,

the memories,

the replaying of what happened.

It became hard to focus, hard to sit still, hard to even open my Bible some days without my mind going somewhere else. And in that space, I questioned myself.

“Am I losing my faith?”

But the truth is, I wasn’t losing my faith.

I was fighting my mind while holding on to God.

There’s a difference.

Because even in my drifting, I was still praying,

even in my silence, I was still reaching,

even in my brokenness, I was still believing.

I just didn’t have the strength to show up the way I used to.

And that’s where grit came in.

Grit is what got me out of bed on the days I didn’t want to move.

Grit is what helped me keep going when my heart felt heavy.

Grit is what reminded me that even in my grief, I still had purpose.

I leaned on God differently in this season.

Not with long, structured prayers, but with simple, honest ones.

“God, help me.”

“God, I’m tired.”

“God, I don’t understand.”

And somehow, He met me there.

There’s a scripture that has been holding me in this season:

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

This scripture reminds me that I don’t have to be whole for God to be near me. I don’t have to have it all together for Him to hear me. I don’t have to show up perfectly for Him to love me. He is close, right here, in my brokenness. And even in this unfamiliar territory, I’m still being used.

I’m still sharing, encouraging, and connecting to other mothers who know this kind of loss.

Some days I don’t even know how I’m able to pour into others when I’m still grieving myself. But I’ve come to understand that my pain and my purpose can exist in the same space.

I’m not healed, but I’m helping.

I’m not whole, but I’m holding on.

I’m not where I used to be, but I’m not where I’ll always be either.

This is new for me.

Navigating life without Jahmya, learning how to carry this kind of love and loss, finding purpose in a place I never asked to be.

But I’m here.

Still standing, believing, and holding on to God, even when my grip feels weak. Because faith isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s quiet and fragile. Sometimes it’s just a whisper that says, “God, I still trust You, even here.”

So no, I didn’t lose my faith.

I’m just learning how to walk with it, differently.

And if you’re in a season where your grief feels heavy, your mind feels overwhelmed, and your connection feels distant, hear me when I say this:

You’re not losing your faith.

You’re holding on the best way you know how.

And God is still right there with you.