Have you ever found yourself in a situation that really sucked, but you had to keep walking through it anyway? Cool, me too. This book is going to talk about times like that. And other stuff that isn’t so depressing, like being strong and kicking life’s butt like a vintage Rocky Balboa in his best moment. Because with seasons of hard come seasons of conquering. It isn’t all just doom and gloom, even though it may feel that way for some time.

There was one time of my life where this was very clearly the theme—things were really difficult and not fun, but I had to do them anyway. Even though everything in my mind and body would have preferred to hide in my bed for a concerning amount of time and numb my feelings by zoning out on a never-ending TikTok scroll.

My son, Shepherd, was born with medical complexities. A solid handful of them, on very important parts like heart, spinal cord, spine, and kidneys, darn it. It began by identifying he had a heart defect in the womb. Eventually, we would discover the rest. Come to find out, he has a rare condition called VACTERL. It is an acronym for vertebral defects, anal atresia, cardiac defects, tracheo-esophageal fistula, renal anomalies, and limb abnormalities. I bet you were not expecting to see the word anal so soon in this book, but here we are. Life sometimes throws curveballs. VACTERL occurs in about 1 in 10,000–40,000 births a year.1 This means there’s approximately a 0.004 percent chance your child will have VACTERL.2 What are the statistics on winning the lottery again? Should I go buy a Powerball ticket?

When Shepherd was only six months old, still a sweet, squishy, drooling bundle of joy, we had to get a sedated MRI so we could fully identify all of his body’s differences and decide a care plan for him. No parent should ever have to walk into a children’s hospital and hand their tiny, precious, fragile child over to an anesthesiologist and just “hope and pray for the best” they bring him back to you.

But of course, it didn’t end there. At the time, that first MRI and handing him over to a nurse was the hardest moment of my life. But what would follow would be a string of others, each one equally as painful on my mom heart. Tests and diagnosis and months of worry and waiting. More MRIs, more anesthesia, a really weird test where they had to inject him with radiation, and then, surgery. It was all more than a lot.

After that very first MRI, we were scheduled for another one about a year later to see how things had progressed and try to further identify treatment options. This meant we would go back to the same hospital and do it all over. We would again hand over our precious boy to a team of strangers, watch as they wheeled him into a room alone, and sit, wait, and worry, separated from him for the next three hours. Because reliving trauma is so fun.

As you can imagine, I did not want to do the MRI again. One big ol’ bout of parental medical trauma was enough for me, thank you very much. But it wasn’t my choice. Life doesn’t always play out exactly like we would plan for ourselves—I know you know. We had to yet again walk through the very hard scary thing, even though everything in my body was screaming NO THANK YOU. HARD PASS. I’d rather just be at home nursing and snuggling my son, feeding him puffs and making him laugh and watching him as he sleeps on his own accord, not sedated and hooked up to a million machines with who-knows-what pumping through him.

For two weeks leading up to the MRI, it was all I could think about. I felt like my heartbeat was solely fueled by anxiety, and it was really wearing me down.

Having to fully trust in God when it comes to your kids, with something you love more than life itself, can be hard. A true test of faith. Yes, I fully believe God is good and is with us at every step, but also, that doesn’t guarantee outcomes . . . so yeah. That is not an easy little tidbit to accept. And sometimes, it even scares me—the lack of control we have. I think it is okay to admit that even though we trust the Lord, it can sometimes be hard to not be horrified about what is going to happen when facing big, scary things.

A few days before the second MRI, I was texting with my friend Kelsey. I said to her how I wished I were stronger. I wished I could be more of a “pillar of faith”—an example of a strong, brave parent—during this moment. I sure didn’t feel that way. I felt more like a useless wet blanket of fear and worry, desperately begging everyone in my circle and all the faceless strangers on the internet to pray for Shepherd and us, because that is all I knew to do. Worry and ask for prayer.

And what Kelsey texted back was something I will never forget.

Did you hear that? We should change what it means to be inspirational. It isn’t about walking through the hard stuff perfectly, posting smiling Instagram pics along the way. Look, universe! Look how brave and strong I am! I am doing this all on my own because I am THAT amazing! Why are you not as amazing as me? What a sad shame. Ugh. We don’t need that.

Maybe being honest and open and prayerful as you walk through the hard thing is also an example of strength. Admitting you are scared of the thing and doing it anyway, relying fully on God, might be more of the example we all need to see. So then when the next person goes through the hard thing, they don’t feel isolated in their pain.

The second MRI went fine. It wasn’t fun, as expected, but it went okay. It was hard, but we made it. I decompressed and fully felt my big sad feelings for a day or so after, then picked back up and kept moving forward.

But guess what, dude? A few more years later, after more specialists and tests and follow-ups, the sedated MRI would look like a cakewalk. And I really love cake, so that says a lot. Eventually, we would realize my son would need spinal cord surgery. Oh gosh. Of all the body parts to operate on! Anything else besides the core of nerves running through his cute little body, please. Couldn’t he have needed toe surgery? Perhaps a small mole removed? But even then, I feel it would be just as hard to walk through. Parenting, I tell ya—such a wild ride. We just love these little beasts so much, our heart beats for them.

We had thought we had more time before the surgery—a year maybe. But after a meeting with his neurosurgeon and discussing some onset symptoms we had noticed, she urged us to get it done immediately. At that very same time, I was working on finishing up this book. So now, as I was writing about doing hard things, I was walking through the very hardest thing I have had to experience to date. The irony of life.

Suddenly, I had to think about everything I wrote in these pages. Did it really stand up when facing tough times? Was I holding back, or being brutally honest? Was I downplaying pain?

As I made my final edits, I ran everything through this test: If someone said the things I said in this book to me now, as I was really, really struggling, would I want to give them a hug or judo chop them in the throat?

With the surgery looming, I was forced to measure the words in this book against that scale. Everything was being held to the fire. Which is a good thing! But goodness I wish it could have been done in a less dramatic fashion.

So just know that when I finished writing this book, I was in one of the most emotionally challenging places I have ever been in. No fake toxic positivity will be found within these pages—we ain’t got time for that, Susan. Just raw honesty and a perspective from someone who was walking through one of the hardest things she has ever had to face.

But what about you? What long, difficult thing are you facing? A hard patch of your marriage? A stressful job with a boss you swear is Medusa herself? A sick child, loneliness, flat-out grief? A pandemic? Whatever it is or was, I hope this book helps you feel less alone with your big feelings, your questions, your hurt. And also, I hope it gently encourages you to keep your eyes on hope.

I think when we walk through extra hard seasons, we can look back and see, in most cases, how our inner strength and God’s strength rose up from some miraculous place and got us through. One way or the other, we got through. I know for me, as I write this, the only thing keeping me from having a complete nuclear emotional meltdown is prayer and God’s grace. Because on paper, I should be a mess. And some (most) days I am. But somehow, I am getting through, minute by minute, moment by moment, sometimes even with little bits of stolen joy. Little bits of worship music on repeat, snuggles with my kids, and laughing with my husband in our kitchen after bedtime. Just Jesus, honestly, is getting me through in most moments.

Being strong...