— You Have to Fight for Your Healing —-

“In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” — John 16:33

Over the past several months, I have been fighting for my healing.

Not because I wanted to.

Because I had to…

After walking through a season of intense loss, several traumatic events, a move across the country, and then being assaulted in Australia, the toll on my heart, mind, and body was considerable. The assault resulted in a moderate to severe concussion, and eventually I underwent extensive neuropsychological testing to evaluate the impact on my brain and memory.

The results were surprising. The doctor explained that the trauma was the primary concern, while the concussion was the secondary concern.

The hardest thing to hear was what the doctor told me afterward. She told me I needed to begin taking care of myself and putting myself first, allowing my mind, body, and soul the time they needed to heal.

She encouraged me to spend the next year intentionally focusing on my own healing because she was even more concerned about the cumulative trauma I had experienced than the concussion itself. Hearing that was sobering. It was especially difficult to hear, because the nature of who I am, is caring. I care for others to a fault at times and this would require a significant lifestyle change for myself and those around me. I knew I couldn’t simply keep pushing through.

“Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it.” — Proverbs 4:23

Knowing how essential my brain is to my everyday functioning and to my life as a whole, I knew I had to take her advice. As a therapist, my work requires a tremendous amount of concentration, critical thinking, emotional presence, and mental capacity every single day. My brain is one of the greatest tools God has entrusted to me.

Not to mention, I am a wife and a mom. I want to be fully present for my family, and I want to become the healthiest, strongest version of myself. So, I began making difficult decisions.

I reduced my workload.

I decreased the number of counseling sessions I accepted.

I intentionally slowed my pace.

I sought the Lord more intently.

I journaled more.

I intentionally read more books and reduced unnecessary and mindless scrolling on my phone.

I spent more time with my family.

I worked hard to quiet my spirit instead of constantly living in survival mode.

Financially, those decisions have certainly affected us. My daughter and I really wanted to go to Florida for a week, but financially we couldn’t pull it off. But God has been so faithful. He has continued to provide for our family, and we have lacked nothing we truly needed. And… my daughter and I ended up having a lot of fun together at home.

“And my God will supply every need of yours according to His riches in glory in Christ Jesus.” — Philippians 4:19

Within just a few months, I have begun noticing something beautiful.

My thinking feels clearer.

My mind doesn’t feel so cluttered.

My headaches are greatly reduced.

My spirit feels lighter.

I genuinely feel like my joy is returning.

The other day I mentioned this to my husband, Robert. Without hesitation he smiled and said, “I’ve noticed.”

Then he said something that made me stop.

“You’re more playful.”

Later that day I realized something else.

I’ve been dancing again.

Not because anyone asked me to.

Not because life suddenly became easy.

Just because joy was quietly returning.

I don’t think I’ve really danced in years.

At first I assumed it was simply because my children had grown up. When they were little, we danced in the kitchen, in the living room, and wherever music happened to be playing. In the aisles of stores, much to the embarrassment of my children.

But after further thought, I realized it wasn’t that my children had gotten older.

It was that somewhere along the road, trauma and loss had quietly stolen a part of my joy.

Without even realizing it, I had stopped dancing.

“You have turned my mourning into dancing; You have loosed my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness.” — Psalm 30:11

As a therapist, I often tell my clients something that may surprise them.

Therapy is not magic.

Simply showing up each week does not heal us.

A good therapist can teach skills, provide wisdom, create safety, and walk alongside someone through their journey.

But healing happens as we intentionally apply those truths to our daily lives.

Healing happens as we renew our minds.

Healing happens as we practice healthy habits.

Healing happens as we surrender ourselves to God over and over again.

“Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.” — Romans 12:2

Healing requires participation.

It requires courage.

It requires discipline.

It requires slowing down.

Sometimes it even requires letting go of good things so we can embrace God’s best.

Today, I simply want to encourage someone who may be in a difficult season.

Fight for your healing.

Fight for your joy.

Fight for your peace.

Fight for your family.

Fight for your relationship with Christ.

Open His Word.

Spend time in worship.

Pray even when you don’t feel like it.

Protect your mind.

Choose what brings life.

The Lord desires more for us than merely surviving.

He calls us to abundant life.

“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.” — John 10:10

Healing is rarely instant.

It is usually a thousand small decisions made in obedience to God.

And one day, without even realizing it…

You may find yourself dancing again.

Reflection

What is one intentional step you can take this week to fight for your healing instead of simply hoping it happens?

Philippians 2:12–13
“Continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you to will and to act in order to fulfill his good purpose.”

Blessings, Crystal Ridlon, LPC

One of the hardest things to navigate in life isn’t always tragedy.

Sometimes it’s people.

Have you ever been around anyone who makes you feel unsettled? You can’t quite put your finger on it, but interactions leave you feeling anxious and emotionally exhausted. Maybe they’re aggressive, critical, cutting, manipulative, or controlling. Perhaps something in their demeanor triggers feelings inside you, leaving you anxious, hurt, or confused. Perhaps the most neutral conversations easily turn into conflict, criticism, or tension. You find yourself walking on eggshells, carefully choosing your words, and hoping to keep the peace.

As a trauma therapist, I know that people often behave this way because of wounds they carry themselves. Hurt people often hurt people. Remembering that helps me have compassion and helps me better maintain my patience. Most importantly, It reminds me to extend grace.

But here’s the question I’ve wrestled with for years:

At what point do we continue extending grace, and at what point do we stand up for ourselves?

When do we keep the peace?

And when do we establish a boundary and say, “This is crossing a line.”

It is important to remember that the Bible…

• Never calls us to mistreat people.
• But it also never calls us to be mistreated.

We are allowed to have opinions. We are allowed to speak truth in love. We are allowed to stand up for ourselves. We are allowed to voice what hurts us or makes us uncomfortable. We are allowed to recognize unhealthy behavior without becoming unloving ourselves. This is the hardest part of managing difficult people because these individuals have a way of bringing out parts of ourselves we don’t like: frustration, anger, hurt, sadness, and discomfort.

This has been a difficult area in my own life.

Much of it probably stems from my own history of trauma. Years of mistreatment created a level of hypervigilance inside of me. My nervous system learned to scan for danger long before my mind had time to process it.

One question I’ve often asked myself:

• Is what I’m feeling a trauma response…or is this simply my God-given discernment recognizing that something isn’t healthy?

The older I get, the more I realize that isn’t always an easy question to answer.

As I’ve learned more about trauma, I’ve realized there may be another layer to this. Trauma expert Stephen Porges uses the term {neuroception} to describe our nervous system’s automatic ability to detect safety or danger before we’re even consciously aware of it. In other words, our bodies often respond before our minds have time to think. Someone’s unmanaged emotions, criticism, aggression, manipulation, or unpredictability can unconsciously remind our nervous system of painful experiences from the past. Before we’ve had time to reason through what’s happening, our hearts may race, our stomachs may tighten, or we may feel the urge to withdraw. This doesn’t necessarily mean we’re in danger, nor does it mean our feelings are wrong. It simply means our nervous system is doing what it was designed to do—trying to protect us. The challenge is learning to slow down enough to ask, “Is this my past speaking, healthy discernment, or perhaps a little of both?”

What’s interesting is that I’ve watched my own children, who were not raised in the same abusive environments I experienced, respond similarly to certain people. They, too, naturally pull back from individuals who are manipulative, highly critical, controlling, or emotionally aggressive. However, typically their emotional responses aren’t as intense as mine. Yet their nervous systems still react to difficult people by pulling away emotionally or physically.

That reminds me that sometimes discomfort isn’t pathology.

Sometimes it’s “wisdom.”

Sometimes our spirit recognizes something unhealthy before our mind can fully explain it.

The challenge is learning to quiet our nervous system enough to discern the difference.

That’s the difficult work.

How do we calm our bodies while also paying attention to what our hearts are sensing?

How do we extend grace without abandoning ourselves?

How do we forgive without becoming perpetual targets?

To be honest…

I wish I had all the answers.

I know healing matters.

I know understanding trauma and our nervous systems matters.

I know healthy boundaries matter.

But I also know there’s something deeper.

There are seasons where there simply isn’t a quick answer.

Some relationships don’t change overnight.

Some people don’t suddenly become safe.

Some situations remain confusing for far longer than we’d like.

And perhaps that’s exactly where God invites us to trust Him most.

One of the Scriptures I return to often is:

“Be still, and know that I am God.” —Psalm 46:10

When relationships feel impossible and your best abilities to create peace and harmony are met with tension, angst, and stressful responses…

…Be still…

Not because the situation suddenly makes sense.

Not because the other person suddenly changes.

Not because you’ve figured everything out.

But because… God is still God.

I also tell many of my clients something that I have to remind myself of regularly:

We hate emotional discomfort.

We spend so much of our lives trying to escape it.

But discomfort itself won’t destroy us.

Our nervous systems certainly need care, rest, healing, and healthy boundaries. Chronic stress does affect our bodies long term.

But the uncomfortable feeling itself isn’t something we have to fear.

Sometimes we simply have to sit with it…

…while holding tightly to Jesus.

Years ago, I found myself desperately trying to please someone.

No matter what I did, it was never enough.

I tried harder.

I became more accommodating.

More agreeable.

More careful.

More thoughtful.

I wanted so badly to earn their approval.

Yet every time I reached the standard, it felt like they simply moved the bar higher.

Nothing I did was ever enough.

One evening, I found myself lying across my bed in tears.

Completely exhausted.

Completely discouraged.

Completely devastated.

I remember crying out to God because I felt desperate.

I needed Him to speak.

I prayed through my tears and asked God to speak to me. I opened my Bible directly to Galatians 1:10.

“For am I now seeking the approval of man, or of God? Or am I trying to please man? If I were still trying to please man, I would not be a servant of Christ.”

I can’t explain it except to say the Holy Spirit spoke directly to my heart.

“Crystal…I didn’t call you to please this person. Your only job is to please Me…

I am pleased with you.

I love you.

I created you.

… You are My beloved daughter.”

I’ll never forget that moment. Those words changed something inside me.

Not because the relationship immediately changed.

It didn’t.

But because I realized I had been chasing something I was never meant to carry.

Some people simply cannot be pleased because of the brokenness they carry inside themselves.

The goalposts continually move.

You reach them…

…and they move them again.

One thing I’ve learned throughout my life when dealing with the most difficult people is this…

• No amount of striving heals another person’s wounds.

Only the individual and Jesus can do that.

This week, a friend reminded me that it took nearly thirty years for one of their difficult family members to soften and become easier to be around.

Thirty years.

If I’m honest…I hated hearing that.

Yet I also knew it was true.

Sometimes the answers we’re praying for don’t come next week.

Or next month.

Sometimes they come years later.

And sometimes they don’t come this side of heaven.

Yet while we’re waiting…

God is doing something inside of us.

He’s teaching us to depend on Him instead of certainty.

To seek His approval instead of man’s.

To trust His timing instead of demanding our own.

To rest when our minds want to keep searching for answers.

Maybe that’s the invitation today.

Not to have every relationship figured out.

Not to understand every difficult person.

But to know the One who walks beside us through every confusing conversation, every painful interaction, and every unanswered question.

Sometimes the greatest peace isn’t found in finally understanding someone else.

Sometimes it’s found in finally resting in Jesus.

—- Reflection —–

• Is there someone whose approval you’ve been chasing at the expense of your own peace?
• Are you confusing people-pleasing with Christlike love?
• Is your discomfort coming from an old wound that needs healing, or is it healthy discernment inviting you to establish a boundary?
• What would it look like today to entrust that relationship to Jesus instead of carrying it alone?
• Where might God be inviting you to “be still” instead of trying harder?

—- Scriptures to Meditate On —-

“Be still, and know that I am God.” —Psalm 46:10

“For am I now seeking the approval of man, or of God?… If I were still trying to please man, I would not be a servant of Christ.” —Galatians 1:10

“The fear of man lays a snare, but whoever trusts in the Lord is safe.” —Proverbs 29:25

“Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it.” —Proverbs 4:23

“If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all.” —Romans 12:18

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding.” —Proverbs 3:5–6

“Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you.” —1 Peter 5:7

Blessings,

Crystal Ridlon, LPC

Dear Taylor,

First, if the recent reports and rumors about your future are true, I want to sincerely wish you and Travis all the best. Marriage is one of life’s greatest gifts, and I genuinely hope that if this season is leading you toward that covenant, it will be marked by wisdom, joy, and a love that endures.

“May the Lord make your love increase and overflow for each other.” — 1 Thessalonians 3:12 (NIV)

Like millions of people, I’ve watched your career unfold over the years. You’ve become more than a talented songwriter or performer. Whether you intended to or not, you’ve become someone many young girls and women look up to. In many ways, you feel like a big sister to an entire generation. Your words matter because your life has touched so many.

Jesus said, “From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded.” — Luke 12:48 (NIV)

That influence is a tremendous gift.

As a wife of 26 years, I wanted to share something that has been on my heart.

Our culture often celebrates romance, passion, excitement, and personal fulfillment above everything else. It tells us that love is primarily about how someone makes us feel. But marriage was never designed to be sustained by feelings alone. It was designed to be held together by something much deeper.

Marriage is a covenant.

It is sacred.

“Marriage should be honored by all, and the marriage bed kept pure.” — Hebrews 13:4 (NIV)

It is a lifelong promise where two imperfect people slowly become one through thousands of daily acts of sacrifice, forgiveness, humility, faithfulness, and grace. That covenant becomes the glue that binds a husband and wife together through every season of life. When the emotions fluctuate—and they always do—it is commitment that carries a marriage forward.

“Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.” — Ecclesiastes 4:12 (NIV)

Listening to some of your recent music, I couldn’t help but feel concerned. Songs that focus primarily on physical desire or the excitement of another person can unintentionally reduce something incredibly meaningful into something that revolves around pleasure alone. Pleasure is actually only a part of the relationship as a whole, an important aspect, but only a part. Marriages that last a lifetime, are built on commitment to God, each other, the marriage, friendship, trust, and allowing your spouse to speak truth into your life.

Physical intimacy is a wonderful gift, but within marriage it becomes so much more than desire. It becomes trust. Safety. Vulnerability. Service. Unity. It is meant to reflect something deeper—a husband and wife giving themselves fully to one another in every sense of the word.

“For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh.” — Ephesians 5:31 (NIV)

That is a far deeper story than our culture usually tells.

My hope for you isn’t simply that you have a beautiful wedding. My hope is that you have a beautiful marriage fifty years from now.

The reality is that celebrity marriages face extraordinary pressures. Celebrity marriages have a significantly lower success rate than the general population, with failure rates estimated at around 50% to 80% compared to the general population’s 40% to 50%. Famous couples are statistically twice as likely to divorce, often facing a high volume of splits within their very first years of marriage. Constant public attention, demanding careers, travel, temptation, and endless opinions make it difficult to build a quiet, lasting life together. Many famous couples don’t make it, and that reality is heartbreaking—not because they’re celebrities, but because divorce always leaves wounds.

You don’t have to become another statistic.

The strongest foundation either of you could ever build is a shared commitment to something bigger than yourselves.

Jesus said, “Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock.” Mathew 24-27

As a wife, mother, and Christian counselor, I wish you and Travis the very best! May you have a long and beautiful life ahead of you, may you find through this covenant, someone who is greater than you, and Travis, a Father in Heaven who can guide you, protect you, and give you every good thing that money can’t provide.

1 Corinthians 13:4-7 “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.”

Blessings, Crystal Ridlon, LPC

—The Successful, Over-Functioning Overcomer—

“When Success Is Born Out of Survival”

Some of the strongest, most successful people I know have hidden anxiety at the root. The anxiousness often times propels them toward success. At times, these individuals have the belief that the driver of their success is the discomfort they feel. However, any good counselor knows this dynamic will lead to burn out at some point and the short and long term impact is significant on their nervous system, mind, body, and soul.

Many high functioning individuals live with Generalized Anxiety Disorder, PTSD, or Complex PTSD. They are dependable, compassionate, hardworking, and incredibly resilient. Others look at them and think, I wish I were more like them.

What many people don’t realize is that these strengths were often born out of survival.

As a trauma therapist, I see this every week.

As someone who has lived it, I know it personally.

Our brains develop around the environments in which we are raised. Children who grow up in emotionally safe homes learn that the world is generally predictable and secure. But children raised in chaos, addiction, neglect, abuse, or emotional instability adapt differently.

They don’t choose those environments.

They simply learn how to survive them.

Some become invisible.

Some become the peacemaker.

Some become the comedian.

Many become the protector.

Their nervous system quietly learns:

“Someone has to take care of this.”

Eventually, that “someone” becomes them.

I remember being about nine years old, watching my older sister make choices that I knew would lead to pain. I remember thinking, When I grow up, I’m going to live differently.

When I said those words aloud, she looked at me and replied,

“You just wait. You’re going to grow up and be just like the rest of us.”

Something inside me answered,

No. I’m going to make it out.

Looking back now, I realize that wasn’t pride.

It was survival.

As these children become adults, something remarkable often happens.

The very skills that helped them survive become the qualities the world rewards.

They become responsible.

Dependable.

Hardworking.

Problem-solvers.

The people everyone turns to in a crisis.

From the outside they look incredibly successful.

What people don’t see is the anxious nervous system quietly driving so much of that success.

Even though life has changed, their brain still believes it has to stay alert.

It notices everything.

It anticipates problems.

It feels responsible for carrying burdens that were never theirs to carry.

This is why I have so much compassion for people who over-function.

Many aren’t trying to control everything.

They’re trying to keep everyone safe.

Those are two very different things.

I still see this in my own life.

After dinner, my husband will often tell me, “Don’t worry about the dishes. I’ve got them.”

Logically, I know he means it.

But there’s still a part of me that struggles to walk away.

Not because I don’t trust him.

But because my nervous system learned long ago that my job was to carry the weight.

Healing isn’t simply understanding why we respond this way.

Healing is teaching our nervous system that we are no longer that frightened child trying to hold everything together.

When clients sit across from me, I rarely begin by telling them to set better boundaries.

Instead, I’m curious about the little boy or little girl who learned they had to become the adult far too soon.

Because healing begins with compassion, not condemnation.

The goal isn’t to become less responsible.

It’s to learn the difference between healthy responsibility and false responsibility.

Healthy responsibility says,

“I’ll faithfully carry what God has entrusted to me.”

False responsibility says,

“If I don’t carry everything, everything will fall apart.”

One is rooted in freedom.

The other is rooted in fear.

The beautiful news is that our brains can heal.

God designed them that way.

If you recognize yourself in these words, please hear this:

You are not broken.

Your nervous system learned to survive.

And with compassion, good trauma-informed care, and God’s healing, it can also learn peace, rest, and safety.

You don’t have to carry what was never yours to carry.

There is hope.

There is healing.

There is rest.

—- Reflection ——

• What responsibilities did you carry as a child that were never yours to carry?
• When does your “protector part” become most active today?
• Is there one burden Jesus may be inviting you to place into His hands?

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” — Matthew 11:28 (NIV)

“Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.” — 1 Peter 5:7 (NIV)

Blessings, Crystal Ridlon, LPC

“I still remember the day I prayed for what I have now.”

Tonight, driving home, I finally had a moment to think.

It had been one of those days. Busy. I was pulled in a hundred different directions. My husband is out of town, and for the first time all day, I had a few quiet minutes alone with my thoughts.

I found myself thinking about how much I miss him when he’s gone and how grateful I am that, after all these years, I still miss him. That thought led me to think about my family as a whole.

When I look at my life now, it looks so different than it did when my children were little.

Back then, their biggest concerns were candy, ice cream, playgrounds, Buzz Lightyear, Barbie, scraped knees, and kisses on boo-boos. Now life looks like new relationships becoming lifelong family members. It looks like daughters-in-law, future sons-in-law, grandchildren, and praying that my children discover God’s purpose for their lives and find careers, callings, and relationships that honor Him.

In some ways, it’s bittersweet. The life I knew is slowly slipping through my hands.

But in so many other ways, it is becoming something more beautiful than I ever imagined.

As I drove, my mind drifted briefly back to my childhood.

I remembered the pain. The screaming. The fighting. The police being called. The fear.

I remembered hiding in my closet because someone once told me that if you really wanted God to hear you, you should pray alone in your closet.

“But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen.” Matthew 6:6

So I did.

As a little girl, not even 10 years old, I climbed into my bedroom closet and begged God for a family.

I wasn’t asking for anything extravagant. I wasn’t dreaming about success, a big house, or a fancy car.

I just wanted a safe place.

I wanted a mom and dad who didn’t fight. I wanted a home where I felt loved, secure, and protected.

I didn’t realize then that God would answer that prayer over decades instead of days.

I hoped and thought He would answer my prayer quickly.

I didn’t know that the answer would continue unfolding into my forties.

As I sat there tonight, tears filling my eyes, I realized something.

I don’t have everything I once thought I wanted.

I was never a famous singer.

I don’t have the dream house I imagined.

I don’t have a Barbie Jeep.

My retirement account isn’t where I’d love for it to be.

I don’t drive a brand-new fancy car.

But those things are just things.

This realization washed over me:

“What I do have is everything I truly prayed for. Everything I ever wanted out of my life.”

I have a husband I love, who loves me, who is committed, and whom I miss dearly when he’s gone.

I have children I adore, who love me.

I have a daughter-in-law who loves my son.

I have family.

I have peace.

And I have a God who heard the cries of a little girl hiding in her closet.

I also realized tonight that while I didn’t have the parents I needed, God gave me a grandmother who loved me fiercely. She was always there. She spent hours on the phone with me when I was home alone. She listened. She cared. She fought for me. She always wanted me to have it all. She was so proud of me. She was proud of my husband and me. She loved my kids.

Looking back now, I can see God’s fingerprints everywhere.

I can see His faithfulness.

I can see how He has carried my sweet family through things that sometimes felt impossible.

Not just difficult things.

Life-altering things.

Traumas.

Heartbreaks.

Losses.

Battles that left marks on all of us.

Yet through it all, God has been whispering the same message to me lately:

You are a survivor.

Your family is surviving.

Through Christ, we will continue to survive.

We will be victorious.

Tonight, I am overwhelmed with gratitude.

Grateful that God has seen us through.

Grateful that He never left us.

Grateful that even when I felt abandoned, He was still there.

Grateful for the ways He has blessed my children.

Grateful for the people He has brought into their lives.

Grateful that He continues to work all things together for good for those who love Him and are called according to His purpose. (Romans 8:28)

Today I cried with someone who was finally beginning to see the fruit of years of praying, hoping, and waiting.

And as I celebrated with them, I found myself celebrating too.

Because I realized something powerful.

I am living many of the things I once prayed for.

The little girl in the closet could never have imagined this life.

It hasn’t been easy.

Healing wasn’t easy.

Marriage hasn’t always been easy.

Raising children hasn’t been easy.

We’ve walked through loss, trauma, disappointment, job loss, and seasons when I wasn’t sure how we’d make it through.

But God has been faithful through every single one of them.

So tonight, I simply want to say thank You.

“Thank You, Lord, for Your faithfulness.

Thank You for never leaving.

Thank You for hearing the prayers of a little girl who just wanted a family.

And thank You for reminding me that even when life feels uncertain, You can always be trusted.”

Maybe tonight you need that reminder too.

Look around.

You may discover that you’re living in the middle of prayers you prayed years ago.

Blessings,

Crystal Ridlon, LCMHC

The Choice: More Than a Story of Survival

Every once in a while, I come across a book that stays with me long after I turn the last page. The Choice by Edith Eger is one of those books.

First, it is simply beautifully written. Dr. Eger has a way of telling her story that is honest, captivating, and deeply moving.

At its core, this is a story of survival—not just survival in general, but survival under the most horrific circumstances imaginable. As a teenager, Edith endured the unimaginable horrors of Auschwitz during the Holocaust. Reading about her determination to live in the face of such evil is both heartbreaking and inspiring.

But what impacted me even more is that this is ultimately a story about overcoming. Dr. Eger refused to allow Adolf Hitler, the Nazi soldiers, or the trauma they inflicted to have the final word over her life. Instead, she chose freedom. She chose healing. She chose to live.

One of the aspects of The Choice that impacted me most was Dr. Eger’s perspective on faith. Although this is not a Christian book, she speaks about God throughout her story. She describes watching her sister wrestle with her faith, wondering how God could allow such horrific suffering.

Dr. Eger writes, “God doesn’t run the death camps. People do.”

That statement has stayed with me. God wasn’t the one killing people in Auschwitz. God wasn’t the one starving families, separating children from their parents, or committing unspeakable atrocities. Evil people were. As a Christian counselor, I found that distinction profoundly meaningful. It reminds us that God is not the author of evil. We live in a fallen world where people are capable of unimaginable wickedness, yet God remains present with those who suffer. Rather than blaming God for humanity’s evil, Dr. Eger chose to cling to hope and faith even in the darkest place imaginable.

As a counselor, I was especially drawn to the second half of the book. Dr. Eger became a psychologist and chose to use her own suffering to help others find freedom from theirs. Rather than allowing trauma to make her bitter, she allowed it to deepen her compassion and her ability to connect with people who were hurting. That resonates deeply with me. Some of the most compassionate helpers are those who have walked through profound pain themselves.

I also found myself relating to her in other ways. She writes not only as a psychologist, but also as a wife and a mother. Those parts of her story added another layer of authenticity and humanity.

The Choice is more than a story of survival. It is a story of resilience, faith, healing, and hope. It reminds us that while we cannot always choose what happens to us, we can choose what we do with our suffering. Dr. Eger chose to use hers to help others find freedom, and because of that, countless lives—including mine as a reader—have been impacted.

For the past two weeks, my husband has been in Korea, and it has reminded me of something I don’t think about often.

Life just isn’t the same when your best friend is gone.

We go through our days so accustomed to our spouses being there that it’s easy to take their presence for granted. But when they’re away, you suddenly notice all the little things you miss. The conversations. The laughter. The quiet moments. Simply knowing they’re there.

One of the things I’m most grateful for is how intentionally present my husband is. Whether he’s halfway around the world or sitting at our kitchen table, he makes time for our family. He always calls. He always checks in. He always makes us feel like we’re a priority.

These past two weeks have also given me a small glimpse into something much deeper. It has stirred a greater compassion in my heart for widows and widowers. Being apart for a short season is difficult enough. I can’t begin to imagine what it must be like to lose your lifelong companion. It has reminded me to pray for those carrying that kind of loneliness.

If your spouse is sitting across from you tonight, thank God for that gift. None of us are promised tomorrow. Love them well. Don’t overlook the ordinary moments. They are often the ones we miss the most when they’re gone.

I’m looking forward to having my best friend back home. God’s design for biblical marriage is the best!

Blessings, Crystal

“Do Not Be Afraid.” — Jesus

I came across a news article this afternoon about a horrific event that happened last week in the city where I live. An evil person randomly attacked a woman during a home invasion.

According to the article, she remains in critical condition. This is terribly frightening, and my heart breaks for her and her family. I do not know this lady, but I have been praying for her recovery. At the time I’m writing this, the suspect has not been caught.

When I heard the news, I noticed something happening inside myself. Fear crept into my spirit, and I became “suddenly” more aware of unlocked doors, people walking by, and potential danger.

As I was driving today, I kept thinking about this horrific story and realized I had been replaying it in my mind over and over. Every unfamiliar car, every unusual sound, every “what if” suddenly felt significant. I’m always careful about safety, but I am not always fearful. Fear began to settle within my spirit.

Then, as I was driving home, I realized I was caught in an unhelpful rumination cycle. As a counselor, I help clients recognize and manage these harmful thought patterns. Thus, I began to practice what I preach. I started to pray and speak truth into the spiral that was causing angst in my spirit. I prayed about it, asked God for wisdom, and refused to allow fear to ruin my evening.

I consciously stated the facts in my mind.

This is not an imminent threat. No one is actively trying to break into my home.

Right now, I am safe. My family is safe. We are okay.

I then moved to, “What can I do about it?”

I can pray. Give it to God. Seek wisdom on extra-cautious strategies to be especially careful until the man is behind bars.

It is essential to take action steps to be wise in these situations, but fear is unnecessary.

There’s an important difference.

Wisdom says, “Lock your doors. Stay aware. Pay attention.”

Fear says, “You’re not safe anywhere.”

Two very different messages. One comes from the enemy, and one comes from God’s gift of wisdom and protection.

You see, our brains are designed to protect us. When we hear about something frightening, especially something close to home, our brains begin scanning for danger everywhere. That doesn’t mean danger is actually everywhere. It means our nervous systems are doing what they were designed to do. This is the mechanism God provided to help ensure our survival and safety.

The goal isn’t to ignore risk.

The goal is to respond appropriately without allowing fear to become our constant companion.

So yes, I’ll be more intentional about locking my doors. I’ll keep extra watch over my family.

I’ll stay aware of my surroundings.

But I refuse to surrender my peace to something that isn’t happening in this moment. I refuse to live in fear of the unknown.

Sometimes the healthiest thing we can do is gently remind ourselves:

“I can be vigilant without being fearful.”

That is where wisdom lives. This is where we find peace in this broken and imperfect world. Wisdom and peace coexist when unnecessary fear is kept at bay.

“For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.” (2 Timothy 1:7)

Reflection:

Where have you noticed fear quietly influencing your thoughts or behaviors lately?

What is one truth you can speak over that fear today?

What wise, practical step can you take without allowing fear to take control?

Ask God for wisdom, take the next right step, and then rest in the peace that comes from knowing He is with you. We were never meant to live in fear, but we are called to walk in wisdom.

Take a moment to pause, breathe, and invite God into whatever is weighing on your heart. Read these Scriptures and rest in the Lord.

2 Timothy 1:7
“For the Spirit God gave us does not make us timid, but gives us power, love, and self-discipline.”

Isaiah 41:10
“So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”

Psalm 56:3–4
“When I am afraid, I put my trust in you. In God, whose word I praise—in God I trust and am not afraid. What can mere mortals do to me?”

Proverbs 3:21–26
“Have no fear of sudden disaster or of the ruin that overtakes the wicked, for the Lord will be at your side and will keep your foot from being snared.”

Philippians 4:6–7
“Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God… will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

Psalm 121:7–8
“The Lord will keep you from all harm—he will watch over your life; the Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.”

Joshua 1:9
“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.”

Blessings,

Crystal Ridlon, LPC

— The Gift of Intentional Friendship —

Yesterday my daughter asked me a question that has stayed with me.

She said, “Mom, do you know what I appreciate most in a friend?”

I smiled and said, “What?”

She replied, “When someone remembers the little details about your life. Your birthday. Things you love. Things you’ve shared. It lets you know they are thinking about you even when you aren’t together.”

That simple question led us into one of the sweetest conversations. I cherish these precious conversations with my kiddos.

We talked about some friendships that have been difficult for her over the past couple of years. Friendships where she has often been the one remembering birthdays, asking thoughtful questions, noticing the little details, and investing in the other person, while realizing they couldn’t remember even the simplest details about her life.

Then she told me about her sweet friend from Texas.

She said what means so much to her about that friendship is that this particular friend always remembers the little things. She mentions them in letters, texts, and their conversations. They share inside jokes and memories that reflect a true and authentic connection.

This friendship is cherished by my daughter because her friend remembers things she shared weeks, months, or even years before. She listens. She remembers. And because she remembers, my daughter knows she genuinely cares about who she is.

Even though we moved away several years ago, they still write letters to each other, text, and FaceTime. Their friendship has remained intentional despite the distance.

From there, we began talking about what healthy friendship actually looks like.

Over the past couple of years, she has been learning the hard and painful lesson that not every friendship is a healthy one. She’s been learning to recognize the difference between friendships that leave you feeling unseen, used, or emotionally drained, and friendships where you feel genuinely known, valued, and loved. As a mother, this has been an emotionally difficult process to watch because it hurts to see your child in pain.

Yet, I understand deeply because I can relate. I’ve been there!

I’ve shared with her the hard lessons I’ve learned about friendship. I’ve shared with her friendships that have caused me heartache. I’ve also shared with her the few friendships I’ve been blessed with. Friendships that have been life-giving, authentic, and unconditionally loving.

Personally, one of the hardest lessons I’ve learned throughout this friendship journey is that sometimes it’s actually better to be lonely for a season than to remain in relationships rooted in unhealthy dynamics.

As we talked, I realized I’ve been learning that same lesson throughout my own life.

The older I get, the more I realize what I treasure most isn’t popularity, personality, or even having a lot in common.

I once heard someone say something that has always stuck with me:

“I’d rather have four quarters than one hundred pennies.”

I’d rather have four close, caring friends than one hundred people who simply like me.

I share this nugget of wisdom with my daughter and with my clients on a regular basis.

True friendship is…

Authenticity.

It’s people who genuinely care.

People who think about you when you’re not in the room.

People who remember your heart.

As I reflected on this, I realized every one of my closest friends shares these qualities in different ways.

One friend always made me feel remembered. She was intentional in ways that made me feel deeply loved.

Another has loved me faithfully through every season. Even when I didn’t always understand her perspective, I never questioned her heart because I knew her love was genuine.

Another has an incredible gift of listening—not just to my words, but to my heart.

Another has spent decades loving and investing in people simply because that’s who she is.

My husband is one of the most authentic people I know. His character has always been one of the things I admire most about him. He’s the best listener and remembers what I share with him.

What all of these people have in common is this:

I’ve never felt like I had to earn their love.

I’ve never wondered if they were building a relationship because they just wanted something from me.

I’ve always known they cared because they genuinely cared.

These are friendships that, for the most part, have developed and been maintained with ease. They haven’t caused me significant stress, emotional pain, or left me questioning their motives.

Maybe that’s why intentional friendships feel so rare and so precious.

In a world that often feels rushed, distracted, and transactional, one of the greatest gifts we can give another person is simply this:

To remember them.

To think about them.

To listen.

To genuinely care about what matters to them.

Sometimes the smallest acts communicate the biggest truth:

“You matter to me.”

I think that’s something every one of us is longing to hear.

I realize as I finish this post,these are the characteristics of God. These friends all deeply love the Lord and love others with the love they first receive from Him.

—- Reflection —-

Take a moment to consider your own friendships.

Who in your life makes you feel seen, remembered, and valued?

Are there relationships where you feel like you are constantly giving without being truly known in return?

And just as importantly—how are you showing up for the people you care about?

Intentional friendship doesn’t require perfection. It simply asks for presence, thoughtfulness, and a willingness to care in meaningful ways.

Maybe today is an opportunity to reach out to someone, to remember a detail they shared, or to let them know they matter.
Because sometimes, the smallest gestures leave the deepest impact.

Blessings, Crystal Ridlon, LPC

Proverbs 17:17

“A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for a time of adversity.”

Proverbs 18:24

“One who has unreliable friends soon comes to ruin, but there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother.”

1 Thessalonians 5:11

“Therefore encourage one another and build each other up, just as in fact you are doing.”

1 John 3:18

“Dear children, let us not love with words or speech but with actions and in truth.”

Galatians 6:2

“Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.”

Philippians 2:3–4

“Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others.”

“A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for a time of adversity.” — Proverbs 17:17

“One who has unreliable friends soon comes to ruin, but there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother.” — Proverbs 18:24

— The Church Hurt Me. Jesus Didn’t —

“The difficult and sacred work of learning to love the Bride of Christ again after being hurt by those who were supposed to represent Him.”

Before I begin, I want to acknowledge something.

This is not a story I have ever shared publicly.

In fact, outside of a few trusted people in my life, I have rarely talked about it at all.

Not because it didn’t deeply impact me.

Not because it wasn’t one of the most painful experiences of my life.

But because church hurt is incredibly difficult to explain to people who haven’t experienced it.

It’s hard to talk about the place where you met Jesus becoming the place where you experienced some of your deepest pain.

It’s hard to explain how people carrying the name of Christ can sometimes leave wounds that take years to heal.

But I also know I’m not the only person carrying these wounds.

So today, for the first time, I’m sharing a small piece of my journey.

— The Church Hurt Me. Jesus Didn’t —

Several years ago, I experienced a level of spiritual trauma that deeply wounded me. It was the kind of church hurt you only hear about in the news, not something you ever imagine happening in your own life. At least, that’s what I thought until it happened to me.

It was through this experience that I realized how absolutely rampant spiritual abuse is within many churches.

It was through this experience that I realized just how damaging and traumatic this evil is on victims and their families.

Ever since that trauma, the concept of church has often felt painful, confusing, and fearful.

The spiritual abuse I encountered changed the way I experience church itself.

Since then, I have spent years trying to find my way back.

Trying to trust the church again.

Trying to trust church leadership again.

Trying to trust church systems again.

Trying to trust people again.

The truth is, no matter how hard I’ve tried, it hasn’t happened the way I thought it would.

I’ve come a long way in my healing.

I’ve continued attending church.

I’ve continued worshiping.

I’ve continued seeking God.

But it’s never been quite the same.

As a counselor trained in trauma and spiritual abuse, I carried a tremendous amount of the emotional weight from what happened. I loved the people impacted. I loved the church. I believed in what the church was supposed to represent.

I think that’s one reason this trauma has been so difficult for me to overcome.

The other reason is that this experience didn’t happen in a vacuum. Like many survivors, I was already carrying layers of previous wounds and trauma that needed healing. Every layer of trauma, makes the healing process harder to sort through.

Of all the parts of recovery, finding my way back into church community has been one of the hardest.

It’s difficult to know how much of that struggle is my trauma, how much is the cultural shift taking place within many churches today, and how much is simply the fact that I have changed.

The answer is probably all three.

Trauma changes people! Which is why it is so hard to process and work through. This trauma has changed me in ways, those closest to me recognize. Creating a new version of me I often can’t recognize. Healing requires a process of reconciling the older version of self with the new version of self. Hopefully, allowing the traumatic event to make us more like Christ, stronger in our resolve, and more compassionate to others who are hurting.

Deep down, I do believe there are good churches.

I know there are good and godly people.

God has faithfully placed many of them in my life.

In fact, I’ve been blessed to be part of some wonderful churches throughout my life.

I found Jesus in a little church when I was fifteen years old.

I attended churches in high school and college where I experienced genuine community, discipleship, and love.

I’ve seen the Church at its very best.

But I’ve also seen the Church at its worst.

And once you’ve been deeply wounded in a place that was supposed to be safe, it changes you.

It changes the way you walk into a sanctuary.

It changes the way you listen to sermons.

It changes the way you trust those in leadership.

It changes the way you worship.

It changes the way you interpret warning signs that other people might overlook.

It changes the way you participate in church.

For a long time, I felt frustrated because I couldn’t just “get over it and move on.”

I thought healing meant returning to who I was before the trauma.

I thought faithfulness meant pretending the wounds no longer existed.

I thought forgiveness would somehow erase the impact of what happened.

But healing has looked very different than I expected.

Healing has not been forgetting.

Healing has not been minimizing.

Healing has not been forcing trust where trust has not yet been rebuilt.

Instead, healing has been learning to bring my pain honestly before God.

It has been allowing Him to sit with me in the grief.

It has been learning that Jesus is not threatened by my questions, my disappointment, or my fear. Jesus is not disappointed with my fear of church. He understands. He was there!

Most importantly, my healing has been learning to separate Jesus from the people who misrepresented Him.

In some of my darkest moments, He was the only reason I attended church services.

I remember sitting with tears streaming down my face not long after everything happened, talking to a dear friend who had been a counselor for many years.

“I hate the church,” I told her.

At the time, I meant it.

The pain felt overwhelming.

The betrayal felt unbearable.

The thought of ever trusting a church again felt impossible.

I’ll never forget her response.

With incredible compassion she simply said:

“That’s okay, honey. Just don’t hate Jesus.”

I needed someone to tell me that it was okay for awhile to hate the church who shattered our lives. It was okay to hate the pain forced into our lives by the pastors who were called to shepherd the vulnerable. Secondly, I needed the reminder to cling to Jesus through the pain.

Because while people had hurt me, Jesus had not.

While leaders had failed me, Jesus had not.

While systems had disappointed me, Jesus had not.

While people claiming to represent Him had wounded me deeply, Jesus had never once abandoned me.

Those words have stayed with me for years.

In fact, God has brought me back to them over and over again throughout my healing journey.

Because the truth is, there were seasons when walking away from church felt easier than staying.

There were seasons when the idea of church membership, church involvement, and church community felt overwhelming. This season seems to be quite elongated.

There were seasons when I wasn’t sure I could ever love the Church again. Thankfully, I’ve learned to love the Biblical Church, and separate it from the church that hurt me.

But a life without Jesus was never an option.

Without Jesus, I realized I had no hope.

And slowly, over time, God began teaching me something I desperately needed to learn:

The people who hurt me carried His name, but they did not reflect His heart.

Jesus did not manipulate me.

Jesus did not abuse His authority.

Jesus did not ignore my pain.

Jesus was not aggressive, intimidating, or hostile.

Jesus did not abandon me.

I came across this quote in a book I’m reading after posting this and knew it was from the Lord.

“ I try to picture an immovable power. Magda how’s lost her faith. She and many others. “ I can’t believe in a God who would let this happen.,” they say. I understand what they mean. And yet I’ve never found it difficult to see that it isn’t God who is killing us in gas chambers, in ditches, on cliff sides, on 186 white stairs. God doesn’t run the death camps. People do.” — Dr. Edith Eva Eger, The Choice

This morning, I found myself discouraged again.

Recent events within the church world stirred up old questions and old fears. Even something as simple as a conversation about church membership felt surprisingly difficult.

For many people, membership is a joyful next step.

For me, it feels much more complicated.

When you’ve been hurt by a church family, becoming part of another church family can feel terrifying.

You want to trust.

You want to belong.

But your nervous system remembers what happened last time. It’s a process to calm down the heightened nervous system and this takes time, it takes patience, understanding, and mostly it takes a whole lot of Jesus.

Church hurt is difficult to talk about because many people don’t understand it.

Some people minimize it.

Some people dismiss it.

Others make you feel like you’re overreacting.

And when trust has been broken, sharing your story can feel almost impossible.

Tonight, as I was wrestling with all of this, I found myself asking God:

“How hard do I keep fighting for church?”

“When do I stop fighting to find your way back into a safe church?”

And I felt Him gently remind me of something I needed to hear.

My focus was never supposed to be on finding the perfect church.

My focus is supposed to be on Him.

When I focus on Jesus, the things that frighten me about church don’t seem quite so frightening.

I don’t go to church because of people.

I don’t go to church because of the pastoral staff.

I don’t go to church for anyone in the congregation; I go because Jesus is worthy of my worship.

Trauma has a way of pulling our attention toward danger.

It keeps us scanning.

Watching.

Evaluating.

Protecting ourselves.

And while those responses make sense, they can also become distractions that pull our eyes away from Christ.

The answer isn’t pretending church hurt didn’t happen.

The answer isn’t forcing trust before we’re ready.

The answer isn’t ignoring wisdom or discernment.

But perhaps part of healing is learning to place our focus back where it belongs.

Not on the failures of people.

Not on the disappointments of institutions.

But on Jesus.

I’m still working through all of this myself.

I don’t have all the answers.

But I think the answer I needed today was simple:

If church hurt has left you discouraged, confused, fearful, or exhausted, keep your eyes on Jesus.

Talk to Him.

Pray to Him.

Worship Him.

Bring Him your questions.

Bring Him your wounds.

Bring Him your fears.

The church hurt me.

Jesus didn’t.

And little by little, He is teaching me how to love His Bride again.

Hebrews 12:2 — “Fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith…”

Psalm 121:1-2 — “I lift up my eyes to the mountains—where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord…”

Deuteronomy 31:8 — “He will never leave you nor forsake you.”

Hebrews 13:5 — “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.”

Matthew 28:20 — “Surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.”

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

Psalm 147:3 — “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.”

1 Peter 5:7 — “Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you.”

—- Reflection —-

I suspect many of you understand exactly what I mean.

How many of you have been hurt in a church?

How many of you have struggled to trust church again after enduring spiritual abuse?

How many of you attend church but still keep part of yourself guarded?

How many of you have found church overwhelming, triggering, or emotionally exhausting at times?

Blessings, Crystal Ridlon, LPC

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