Journal

Dear Beautiful Mama,

I created this journal for you.

The mother whose heart is heavy, who feels like she’s tried everything, and who still wakes up to another battle with the child she loves more than anything.

I know what that’s like.

I knew my son needed more help than I could give when he started getting stuck in darkness I couldn’t pull him out of. I tried everything. Therapy. Boundaries. Prayer. Love. Consequences. I was scared, for him, for myself, and for my younger son. After my husband died in 2021, everything shifted. My son was only ten. He hit puberty early, and things spiraled.

Therapists warned us the police might have to be called. He ran away. Lied. Stole. Hurt people. I had locks on every door. I was in constant survival mode, talking to teachers and principals weekly, often daily. I was soul-exhausted. Angry. Sick from carrying so much suffering and guilt. And honestly, I couldn’t see the light in him anymore. I wanted to. But it felt like every day was war.

In 2023, Dallas, my now fiancé, entered our lives. He had so much love and empathy for my son, Gabriel. Something I had lost in the daily fight. Dallas found Miracle Farm, a boys’ ranch that helps troubled teens. He understood this path because he walked it himself. And even though blending our families was hard, and my son resisted him deeply, that decision to send him to Miracle Farm was the beginning of something new.

Gabriel’s birth mother died from an overdose just a week before he left. And while I felt relief when he went, I also felt deep shame. But my heart knew, this was God’s hand. It felt like we could finally breathe after being trapped underwater for so long.

At Miracle Farm, my son is beginning to heal. And so am I. There’s still a long road ahead — he’s only 14, but I’m celebrating small miracles now. We laugh together again. I want to hug him again. I can finally see the boy I love emerging from the pain.

That’s why this journal exists.

Because I know what it’s like to beg for reasons to celebrate when joy feels out of reach.

Because I know what it’s like to need someone to just get it.

Because I know what it’s like to feel like you’re failing everyone, your hurting teen, your younger child, and yourself.

What I needed most was not more judgment. I needed someone to tell me:

You’re not crazy. You’re not alone. You’re still a good mom. And joy is still for you.

So here’s your place to breathe. To write. To feel. To let go of guilt and return to yourself.

My hope is that in these pages, you rediscover strength. That you hear God whispering that it’s okay to rest. That you find space to celebrate, even the tiniest things.

You are not alone. You are not broken. And joy still belongs to you.

Thoughtfully, Chelsey