Savvy Sophistication

The truth about falling short, going back, and still being loved by God.

I thought I was done with that version of me.

I thought I had healed.

I thought I had broken the cycle for good.

But healing doesn’t always move in a straight line.

Sometimes, you slip.

Sometimes, you fall back into what you prayed to be delivered from.

Sometimes, you look in the mirror and see a woman you thought you outgrew.

🕰 Back in Time to a Different Place

It wasn’t just a moment—I felt like I was transported.

Back to a version of me that I thought I’d buried.

Back to the same fear, the same ache, the same story I swore I’d outgrown.

I didn’t go back to a person.

I went back to a feeling.

A place.

A time where I didn’t know how to protect my peace.

Where survival looked like running and pain felt familiar.

It’s like healing had moved forward—but a part of my heart stayed stuck.

And when life got loud and vulnerable, I found myself right back in that internal cycle—on the same emotional timeline I thought I had escaped.

And that’s the thing no one tells you about trauma:

Sometimes, even when you’ve healed, the patterns try to live on.

🎭 I Wanted to Be Perfect

I tried so hard to be the healed one.

The one who breaks the curse.

The one who sets a better example.

The one who “glows up” and never looks back.

But the pressure to be perfect became a prison.

And the truth is—I’m not perfect.

I’m still healing. Still learning. Still human.

And that’s the hardest confession of all.

It’s hard for me to admit I’m not perfect—because I never set out to impress people. I set out to shatter ceilings, reach goals, and become the kind of woman I needed growing up.

Not to please the world—but to prove to myself that I could be strong, steady, and unstoppable.

My own version of Wonder Woman.

So when I fall short, or I fall hard, it hits deep.

But even in the pursuit, I have to remember:

I’m human too.

Not invincible.

Not immune to emotional character testing moments.

Just a woman trying her best to carry big dreams with a patched up heart.

And still, grace meets me right where I am… reminding me that I don’t have to carry the world to be worthy of love.

🙏 Repentance Over Perfection

I wasn’t myself.

I was angry and boiling over.

I was triggered and swallowed pain.

I was fed up and tired of being hurt, ridiculed, critiqued, and belittled.

See this is where it messed up.

I didn’t take it straight to Jesus.

I got angry and triggered.

In one moment, I became everything I swore I’d never be—yelling, reactive, sharp-tongued—just like the generations I’ve spent my whole life trying to heal from.

I’ve fought so hard to outrun the generational curses, but somehow, my family still knows how to press every button I thought I’d buried.

And for a split second, I didn’t just carry my maiden name—I acted like it.

With shame in my heart and tears on my face, I prayed:

“Lord, I went back to who I use to be. I knew better. I didn’t want to fall short. I’m so sorry.”

My knees never felt as heavy as my heart. Not like this. I just kneeled and prayed.

And instead of rejection, I felt grace.

Instead of distance, I felt Him near.

Because God doesn’t just love the version of us that gets it right.

He loves the version that’s in the middle of a detour.

The version that stumbles but still comes home.

Like Peter..

This is a Peter kind of story.

The kind where you swear you’ve changed, then slip into old patterns when fear or pain creeps in.

Where passion for Jesus collides with the reality of being human.

But like Peter, I found that failure didn’t push Jesus away—it pulled Him closer.

Peter wasn’t disqualified by his detour—he was strengthened by grace. It restores.

🔁 Breaking the Cycle Means Telling the Truth

The enemy wants you to believe that your slip-up disqualifies you.

That because you went back, you don’t get to move forward.

But that’s a lie.

You don’t break cycles with silence.

You break them with truth.

With confession. With repentance. With humility.

And with the decision to choose different—even after the detour.

🌱 The Bounce Back is Holy Too

Maybe your healing hasn’t been neat.

Maybe your progress has been messy.

Maybe your testimony includes again—as in, “I did it again.”

Same.

But here’s what I know:

You’re still called.

You’re still loved.

And you’re still covered by grace that runs deeper than your worst mistake.

“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”

– 2 Corinthians 12:9

💌 From One Warrior to Another:

Don’t quit because you fell.

Don’t stay stuck because it’s hard.

Don’t let shame stop you from returning to the One who already knew you’d need Him—again and again.

If healing isn’t linear, then maybe it’s…

A spiral—where you revisit the same wounds, but from higher ground each time.

A patchwork—stitched together with progress, setbacks, grace, and grit.

A dance—one step forward, two steps back, still moving to a rhythm only God fully understands.

A garden—where some days you’re blooming, and others you’re buried, but growth is still happening underground.

A battlefield—with victories, failures, and a Savior who never stops fighting for you.

A journey—not to perfection, but to wholeness, where scars tell the story of survival, not shame.

Healing isn’t a straight shot toward peace.

It’s messy. Holy. Repetitive. Real.

Because grace was never about being deserving—it was always about being loved.

And Jesus doesn’t flinch when you come undone.

When I raised my voice, slammed the door, or said things I wish I could take back—

Then maybe that means… Jesus leaned in.

Not in judgment.

Not in shame.

But with compassion.

With a steady presence that says, “I see the wound underneath the war.”

He didn’t walk away when I broke down.

He came closer.

Because that’s what love does.

It stays.

It heals.

It reaches into the mess and says, “Still mine, and it’s going to be okay.”

Why does Jesus love us so?

Because He is love.

Not the kind that’s earned, bought, or bargained for—

But the kind that kneels in the dirt, walks toward the cross, and whispers “You’re still worth it.”

He loves us because He made us.

Because when He formed us, He already knew the mistakes we’d make, the shame we’d carry, the nights we’d cry ourselves to sleep—

and still, He said, “Mine.”

He doesn’t love us for what we do.

He loves us because of who He is.

Merciful. Faithful. Unchanging.

The kind of love that doesn’t flinch when we fail, and doesn’t fade when we fall short.

Jesus loves us because He chose to.

Because He sees the end from the middle.

Because His heart breaks when ours does.

And because He would rather go to the cross than go to Heaven without us.

So no—healing isn’t linear.

It stumbles. It spirals. It hurts.

But it also teaches. It deepens. It refines.

And when it feels like you’re starting over again, you’re not.

You’re just moving differently through the same grace that never let you go.

Because while our time here is brief—bound by days, detours, and decisions—

our time with Him is not.

Our place in His love is infinite.

And that’s the hope that holds us, even when we don’t hold it perfectly.

Love,

C