The Parts We Hide

Finding grace, healing, and hope in the places we’re afraid to speak about.

The past few days, in between work and the normal rhythm of life, I’ve been sitting with a thought that won’t let me go.

I saw a quote that put words to something I’ve carried quietly for a long time:

“God, please heal the part of me that I can’t discuss with anyone.”

At the same time, the song “Come Jesus Come” by CeCe Winans was playing in the background, and it felt like everything lined up in one moment — the words, the music, the memories, the ache, and the hope.

After talking with so many people on my journey through this thing we call life, I’ve discovered something simple but hard to admit:

All humans fail.

Every single one of us.

And yet, in our walk with our Creator, we begin to discover something deeply personal. We discover for ourselves what amazing grace actually means. Not as a lyric. Not as a church phrase. But as a lived reality.

Most of us have walked through what feels like the dark night of the soul. The place where you sit with your mistakes, your regrets, your hidden wounds, and the version of yourself you’re afraid to show the world. But here’s the part we don’t talk about enough:

There is hope.
There is light at the end of the tunnel.
And even when it feels impossible to believe…

You are not alone.

Somehow, in that shadow, peace can still find you. I know it did for me. Not all at once. Not perfectly. But enough to keep breathing. Enough to keep walking.

After many conversations with men especially, one question keeps surfacing like a quiet fear we all share:

“If you really knew who I was, would you still accept me?”

That is a terrifying question to carry inside your chest. Because it assumes the answer might be no.

I’ve made choices in my past that hurt my heart — and hurt people I love. That truth doesn’t disappear just because time passes. But learning from that pain… that’s where the rubber meets the road. That’s where growth actually begins.

We can sit in sorrow for a moment. We’re human. We need that moment. But we cannot build a home there. At some point, we have to stand up, brush the dust off our spirit, and move forward.

I am learning to walk in peace, hope, and love.

Is it easy?

Heck no.

It’s hard. It’s scary. Some days it feels like walking through fog with no map. But every step forward matters. Every honest prayer matters. Every scar carries a lesson.

Your hope matters.
Your movement forward matters.
Your testimony matters.

Because your light — the one you fought to protect when everything felt dark — will guide someone else who is walking the same trail you once stumbled through.

And maybe that’s the quiet miracle of healing: the part of you that once felt too broken to speak about becomes the very thing that helps someone else believe they can survive too.