Entry #2 • August 19th, 2025

Words, Spoken or Scribbled

I process verbally. Sometimes that means talking it out with a close friend. Other times it means writing — usually in my journal. And lately, that journal has been carrying a lot.

Going back to reread old entries is always an experience. They’re like time capsules. But honestly? They can also make me a little anxious. Because as I write today’s page, I can’t help but wonder: what’s going to be on tomorrow’s? That unknown can turn my stomach.

From my journal, 8/17/2025:

The Verse That Changed Everything

I was 15 years old. Sitting criss-cross applesauce on my twin bed, Bible in my lap, my heart heavy with decisions that felt impossibly big. Sophomore year. That strange age where you’re too young to know much but old enough to feel the pressure of choices that could change everything.

God had become real to me in the year before — so real I couldn’t get enough of Him. That night, desperate, I lifted my Bible and whispered, “God, I don’t know what to do. Please show me…” Then, in all my teenage earnestness, I flipped it open blindly. (Not exactly the Bible study method I’d recommend, haha.)

It landed in Psalm 32.

When I hit verse 8, I knew it was His answer:

Stop. Don’t skim this. Let those words settle in your bones for a moment.

Because here’s the thing — we’re so used to scrolling, skimming, trying to satiate our insatiable attention span with the next hit. But I just shared with you a deeply personal moment that completely changed the entire trajectory of my life.

And I don't want you to just blow past it. I want you to SIT HERE with me for a moment.

Imagine this: you’re 15. You’re crying out to God with all the sincerity you can muster, begging Him to show you the way. You flip open your Bible in pure desperation, and this is the verse staring back at you. Go on. Read it again:

Can you feel the weight of that?

Friend. That moment shook me to my core. It was as though God Himself leaned down, looked me in the eye, and whispered: “I see you. I’ve got you. I’ll show you the way.”

It changed everything. I can still feel the relief washing over me, mingled with shock and holy awe. I remember whispering into the silence of my room, “Okay God. Show me the way.”

And that verse has anchored me ever since. Through heartbreak, through fear, through exhaustion, through joy. For 24 years, it has been my compass, my promise, my reminder that I don’t have to figure it all out — I just have to follow the One who sees.

When people ask me, “Megan, how do you do it all?” I’m never sure how to answer. The truth feels too layered, too deep for a quick reply. Because the simple answer is: I don’t do it all. Not in the way most people imagine. What looks like “doing it all” is actually letting a lot go — and trusting God to show me what matters. That’s how He’s led me, one step at a time, eye to eye.

And every time I need the reminder, I hear it again, clear as ever:

(Oof...I catch myself wanting to apologize for how faith-heavy these first Just Me entries have been. But then I stop — why apologize? This is the behind-the-scenes of my life. This is how I do it. This is how I make it through.)

The Trip That Almost Wasn’t

This summer, we finally took a long-awaited family trip. Originally planned for March 2020…well, you know how that year went. After saving faithfully and planning carefully, we carved out a whole month away. I was desperate to step out of the grind of small-business life and just slow down with my family.

Don’t misunderstand me, I LOVE what I do. Like…obsessively love it. But I knew I desperately needed time to step out of the thick of it and be forced to slow down, to really be with my family. That can be nearly impossible as a small business owner because the business is always calling out to you.

It’s like the sirens of old — their voices rise no matter how far you try to sail away. The songs sound sweet, irresistible even, pulling you closer and closer. And if you aren’t careful, if you don’t lash yourself to the mast or plug your ears, you’ll find yourself wrecked against the rocks before you even realize what’s happened.

That’s what running a business can feel like. Beautiful. Compelling. But dangerous if you never step away.

My husband is from Mexico, and we actually began our married life there. We lived there for three years, and though we came back to Colorado for our oldest son’s birth, he spent his first 18 months growing up in Mexico. My husband’s mom, sister, and extended family all live there, so every visit feels like stepping back into a life we once thought would be permanent. When we first married, we fully intended to stay there forever, so returning always feels both familiar and distant — like slipping into another version of myself.

This trip was different than the short 5–7 day visits we’d managed in the past. We planned nearly a full month away (with a week of that just for driving), giving us more time to truly be with family and revisit that chapter of our lives.

But before leaving, there was a mountain to climb. Six weeks out, I hired four new people for the sales floor. Every day until departure, I trained them so the store could run without me for a month. Training itself is draining, but I was also still ordering product, managing finances, keeping up with customers, pushing projects forward.

I kept telling myself: Just get the new people ready. On the other side is rest. That thought fueled me. I even let myself dream a little: When I get back, they’ll be trained. I’ll finally have space for the parts of the business I love most.

What I didn’t know was that those four new hires would give me relief in ways I couldn’t yet imagine.

When Innocence Meets Reality

On the first day of the drive, concern hit. By that first night, in Amarillo, TX, I told my husband, “I hate the overused word ‘trigger,’ but I feel triggered. This feels like when everything started falling apart with Felix four years ago.” He nodded. He felt it too.

And then things unraveled fast.

One of our teen sons was very sick. The ER staff at Dallas Children’s Hospital assured us: “You’ve done nothing wrong. This is how most parents find out about this diagnosis — with a life-threatening trip to the ER. We’re so sorry. And we’re so sorry you’re far from home, on a special family trip.”

Those words mattered. Medical professionals can break you or hold you together in a crisis. Their understanding and encouragement helped me breathe in the middle of shock.

For hours I sat by his side in critical care, knowing his life had just changed forever. At one point, a doctor said to my son, “It’ll be okay. You’ll still be able to do the things you love — you’ll just have to manage them differently.”

Later, when we were alone, my son asked, “Mom, what do they mean by manage it?” My heart cracked. I told him gently, “They’ll explain it to us soon.” I already knew the truth — that his world had shifted drastically and permanently — but I chose to preserve his innocence for one more night.

Grief in Pockets

I’ll share more details soon. I know you’re asking, What is it? What’s wrong? But I need time. Two months of re-explaining, correcting assumptions, and carrying misconceptions has worn me thin. Education is at my core — I want to explain this well, in a way that cuts through misconceptions so you can really hear me.

For now, here’s what weighs the heaviest on me today:

• The constant stage of grief.
• Navigating well-meaning comments that miss the mark.

This diagnosis has been isolating and defeating. One set of our care providers put it perfectly:

“As parents, you grieve everything at once — the loss of normal, of future experiences, of imagined milestones. But your child only grieves the impact right now. Their grief will come in pockets, as life unfolds. Yours is heavy now because you’re carrying it all at once.”

That perspective crushed me — and comforted me. It gave me language for why this feels unbearable at times, and hope that my son won’t carry all of it at once the way I do.

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Until then,

Just Me[gan]

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