I don’t need a hero.
I need home –

Not a place but a feeling. 
A place where my nervous system can exhale. 

I don’t need someone to come in and save the day—no knight in shining armor, no great white horse, no dramatic rescue. I don’t need fixing. I don’t need spectacle.

I need someone who knows how to stay.

I understand the instinct, though. Heroes are built to protect, to provide, to teach, to lead, to fix. There is something honorable in that wiring. I see it. I respect it.

But I have learned to be my own hero.
What I am walking through now cannot be fixed.

---

Home vs. Hero: When Strength Stops Being Loud

I am in a unique position in this season of my life.
I am helping my mother die.

Not fighting to keep someone alive.
Not battling the impossible.
But advocating for comfort as she begins her transition—her crossing.

That is a very different kind of strength.

This is not hero work.
This is what home requires.

---

Survival Mode, Narcissistic Abuse, and the Body

There was a time in my life when everything was about survival.

I was living under narcissistic abuse by a man who future-faked his way into my world and kept me locked in a constant state of fight-or-flight. My body responded exactly the way bodies do when they are never allowed to rest.

Constant cortisol.
Constant vigilance.

Inflammation.
Chronic migraines.
Heart palpitations.
Clumps of hair falling out every day.

My body was waving white flags long before my mind could understand what was happening.

I remember one day he looked at me and said,
“Because you don’t eat what I tell you to eat, and you don’t work out your body the way I tell you to work out your body, you are going to be such a burden to this family. When your body starts to break down, you will be a burden to me. You will be a burden to your children.”

That word—burden—was used like a weapon.

---

Reclaiming the Lie of Being a “Burden”

I fought to keep Super G alive.
I fought even harder to keep my children’s spirits alive when Hurricane Harvey came rushing in—when floodwaters swallowed toys, beds, clothes, shoes, our living room, our kitchen, and the illusion of safety we thought we had.

I worked tirelessly to save a man who was never willing to save himself.
A man who weighed 115 pounds, battling anorexia.
A man I did not yet understand was living with deep mental illness and disordered control.

I nearly lost myself trying to save his life—because isn’t that what a good Christian wife is supposed to do?

Then I fought like hell to keep Tank alive.
His little body obliterated because one man wasn’t paying attention while driving, and another wasn’t paying attention when he told him to run into the street.

I have been keeping this family alive.
I have been keeping myself alive.

And now—
now I have to watch someone die.

I have to advocate for death.
For peace.
For comfort.

There is nothing here to fix.
Nothing to save.

And strangely, this is where healing has met me.

---

Motherhood, Advocacy, and End-of-Life Care

Healing comes if we are willing to receive it.
If we are willing to loosen our grip on the hurt and let something truer take its place.

My mother is not a burden to me.

I am her daughter.
And she is not a burden.

It is an honor to love someone at the end of their life.
It is a privilege to hold their hand.
To keep their body as comfortable as possible while their spirit prepares for its rebirth into heaven.

Scripture reminds us of this sacred truth:

“Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you.
I have made you and I will carry you;
I will sustain you and I will rescue you.”
—Isaiah 46:4

Care is not weakness.
Presence is not burden.
Love is not heavy.

This is devotion.

---

Faith, Rest, and the Strength of Mothers

I don’t need a hero to ride in and make this better.

What I need is home.

I need someone who feels like home.
Someone who can hold me.
Someone who can help regulate my nervous system when my body forgets it is safe.
Someone who can remind me—quietly—that I am a badass, that I CAN do hard things, that I carry wisdom forged in fire, that I am loved, that I am cherished.

Because this is what real strength looks like:

“She is clothed with strength and dignity,
and she laughs without fear of the future.”
—Proverbs 31:25

It is the strength of mothers that brings us into the light.
It is the strength of mothers that shines light on the monsters that thrive in the dark.

Never underestimate the power of an advocating mother.

And if I am honest—
what I really need is my mom.

And now, I have to let her go.