Have you been there—wondering when did this change? You don’t know how you got there because there isn’t an exact moment that you can look back at. There is no clear line where everything shifted. No obvious breaking point.
Things just…changed.
Quietly. Slowly. Maybe even gently at first.
If I am honest, those are the hardest moments to trust.
I try to look for something clear.
Anything I can explain.
Something that would make it easier to say “here!! See?! THIS is why!”
I’ve come to realize, sometimes there isn’t a big reason. There is just a knowing. A quiet knowing that something that once felt just right…doesn’t anymore.
I’ve been there, in places like that.
Places I loved.
Places that were part of my story.
Places where “my people” were.
Places where my kids grew up.
Places where beautiful memories were created and roots were planted.
Nothing downright awful happened.
That is the place that makes it all harder.
Because when something is clearly shattered, the decision feels easier.
When it’s not shattered—just different—you start questioning your own heart instead.
“Maybe it is just me being off.”
“Maybe I am reading too much into it.”
“Maybe I just need to pull up my granny panties and push through.”
The thing I realized and cannot ignore anymore is:
Peace doesn’t always leave with a cymbal clanging.
But when it leaves, something changes.
Not with a dramatic flair.
Not in a way you can fully explain.
In a way you can feel in the depths of your soul.
You feel hesitation where you used to feel ease.
Tension where there used to be rest.
A heavy weight when it used to be feather light.
I like to override those things, though.
Not because I didn’t really feel it or because I didn’t care about the truth—but because I care so deeply about loyalty.
Loyalty to people.
To history.
To the things that have been.
I am learning that loyalty can become misplaced. The misplaced loyalty can quietly lead you away from discernment.
“Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts…” Colossians 3:15
Peace doesn’t visit.
It doesn’t check in occasionally.
It rules.
Peace isn’t just an easy feeling.
It is—and should be—a filter.
If peace is no longer present in the way it once was, that matters. It’s worth exploring.
This is the thing. The hard thing about it. The thing you might not want to even say out loud:
Not everything that starts well stays aligned.
Recognizing that doesn’t make you disloyal or not peaceful, it makes you honest.
Sometimes the shift isn’t something everyone else can see, the shift is in your spirit. Your spirit can no longer ignore it and keep pushing through.
Discernment doesn’t come with an instruction manual for what to do in every situation. Sometimes it doesn’t tell you: “Leave. Now!”
Or “Girl…you know you need to stay and fix this!”
Sometimes it quietly speaks to your heart: “You know it. You know this is no longer the same.”
I think it also whispers an “I’m sorry,” with it.
It knows how deeply you care.
This is where it gets super hard—you’re left with deciding what to do with that.
That’s where more complications show up. The WHAT IFs enter the chat:
What if there’s still good there?
What if there are still people who love you?
What if there are still moments that feel meaningful?
There it is—the tension in words.
It isn’t all wrong at all, it’s just not all right, either.
Maybe that is where I need to be honest with my own heart. Maybe I just need to admit that I don’t need something to be “all wrong” to realize it is no longer right for me.
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding…” Proverbs 3:5
How long have I had that verse memorized and it just sits in my brain vault of easily memorized verses?
If I truly sit and read it, what does it say? TRUST in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on YOUR OWN understanding.
I try to rely on logic too often. I sit in logic for way too long. I explain things away. I wait for clarity…that only turns cloudy. I suppose, trusting God looks like this sometimes: Listening to something that just doesn’t make sense yet.
I have to force myself to live in another “not yet” moment.
I have to sit in uncomfortable instead of telling it to be silent and go away.
I have to ask myself a hard question:
“If nothing changes…do I feel peace in staying?”
The question can help quiet the noise down. I don’t have the urge to fix things, justify things, defend things. I just need to answer that question with the trust of the Lord and the peace that needs to rule my heart.
Can I be bold, maybe call it a gentle boldness and declare:
I can honor something that has been
Without staying in what it has become.
I can be grateful, so very grateful,
Without still being attached.
I can love people with a very deep love,
And still choose boundaries when something doesn’t feel aligned.
Faithfulness doesn’t always mean staying.
Faithfulness can mean being honest enough to move when peace no longer remains.
If you’ve been there, you know it. Maybe you are here now.
Something feels different. You just can’t put your finger on it.
You’re not overthinking it. (Too much)
You’re not being dramatic. (Check yourself, before you wreck yourself)
That tension is hard. I will go as far to say it doesn’t mean you’re confused in it. It usually means you’re aware. You’re aware of what your spirit has been trying to gently nudge you with.
Pay attention to the nudge.
Not with fear or impulsive moves.
But honesty.
God doesn’t only lead through those clear moments.
Sometimes He can lead in a quiet shift in your peace.
Learning to follow that—
When it is uncomfortable.
When it is misunderstood.
When it might cost you something.
That isn’t weakness.
That’s discernment.
And sometimes it hurts far more to leave something that has been so good, than to leave something that has been shattered.
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