Entry #22 • March 17th, 2026

This was not the entry I had planned to share this week.

That one was nearly finished — I was in the final stages of formatting it — when this one began pressing on me instead.

So this is your heads up: this one is heavy. And it’s faith-filled.

If either of those make you uncomfortable, this is your chance to check out. Though…maybe that’s a sign you need to stay. Haha. Trust me, this feels really uncomfortable for me too. You’re welcome to sit in that discomfort with me.

Deep breath.

Because writing something like this makes me want to throw up from the vulnerability of it.

I have a wide mix of readers who have gathered around this “public private journal” of mine (and yours). My dad recently joined (hi, Dad! 😅), two of my teen boys (heh heh…hi boys 🫣), people I’ve never met, really close friends, extended family, and everyone in between.

It makes me really squeamish to pour my heart out here and then see people in public who have read it. Though if you acknowledge that you read it when you see me, it’s actually really encouraging. It makes the whole thing feel a little less awkward.

With that said, it has gotten easier the more entries I’ve done. However, this entry in particular makes me want to crawl into a hole and never come out.

God…I don’t want to write this entry. But I will. 😮‍💨

The week between the last entry and this one has been really, really hard for me personally.

That previous entry already carried some heavy elements. I am deeply grateful for those of you who reached out to check in. Some of you shared your own trials as a way of relating and encouraging me. Some of you simply gave a quiet signal that you were reading and walking along with me.

Thank you to all of you.

It means more than you probably realize. It’s still a raw feeling to process hard moments of life so publicly. I am aware that I'm opening myself up to potential scrutiny during a very delicate season.

And yet I keep feeling the nudge to continue—to keep writing and sharing. Every once in a while I catch a small glimpse of the impact these entries have on you, Dear Reader, and those glimpses push me to keep going. To push through the yuck.

The Great Unraveling

So yes…this past week was exceptionally hard. As each day passed, I could feel my nervous system going more and more haywire.

I feel on edge with no break in sight. Any little question feels too heavy, too complex for me to answer. At one point recently, one of my younger kids asked if he could have a second juice box at an event we were at, and I could barely process what he was asking because it felt like too much of a decision to wade through.

I really knew my ability to hold things together was going off the rails when I started telling nearly complete strangers that I have almost no capacity to participate in whatever they’re asking of me.

I literally typed this in a “reply all” business email I sent on Friday to a couple of people I’d met with on Zoom earlier that week about a really cool project Colorado Baby might get to participate in with the Creative District:

“I also want to be upfront early in the process that my capacity to take on additional lift with projects is fairly limited right now. Over the past nine months, I’ve been navigating a life-changing medical diagnosis with one of my teens. My son is doing well, and we’re grateful for that, but the experience has been heavy, and I’m still doing some personal processing around it. Additionally, I’m navigating complicated health insurance issues related to this diagnosis.”

Can you imagine getting that reply in a business email? Jeez. I’m a little embarrassed, but also…cool. Good job setting boundaries, Megan, I guess? 😅

Then, while dealing with an insurance claim on our house this week, the adjuster asked me why I hadn’t filed the claim months ago, and I blurted out, “Quite frankly, because I’ve been navigating a medical crisis with a child for the last several months. Thinking about xyz with my house was nowhere on my radar.”

It was so quiet on the other end I could have heard a pin drop. She came back with empathy. To have a claims adjuster respond with empathy was…so human. It’s amazing how giving a human answer can invite a human response.

And this, folks, is what it looks like when the highly productive, high-energy, gets-things-done, “you wonder how they do it” friends in your life start to unravel.

By the way, have I mentioned how badly I don’t want to write this? There’s just something so exposing about being this honest.

I literally just shook my head and said out loud, right now, “I don’t want to write this. I don’t want to write thissssssss.”

If something in this entry resonates with you, I’m really grateful for that. The truth is, I wrote it simply because I felt God pressing on me to share it, and I’d rather be obedient than not. If it ends up meeting someone where they are, then maybe that’s exactly why I felt the urgency to write it.

I think I’ll call this past week: The Great Unraveling.

I’ve just been trying to figure out if I should be freaking out yet. Am I at the edge? I don’t want to know what is over the edge. I’d actually really like to stay as far away from the edge as I can.

Just so I’m clear before I go any further: I’m okay. I’m not in a place of harm or hopelessness. I’m simply being honest about a hard stretch of life. These are the kinds of things we often carry silently, and I’m sure many of you have your own valleys you’re walking through right now. I’m letting you see this part because I think there is something freeing about saying these things out loud.

And don’t worry, I have very dear friends checking in on me. While I want to crawl into a hole, I haven’t. In fact, if you came into the store on Friday, you could have, or maybe did, say hi to me. I was there to open at 10:00…wiping the tears off my face. 🙃

Let me back up now and give you more of a play-by-play.

Truthfully, I’d much rather write this story on the other side of it — when it’s tidy and resolved and I can present the polished version. But this is my journal, and well…it’s Just Me.

EIGHT DAYS AGO (I had originally typed two weeks ago, then went back to check—this literally happened just eight days ago) I received an email that was a really hard blow.

I’ve been battling Dallas Children’s Hospital and others to get them to bill our insurance correctly from my son’s emergency stay back in June. I thought I had made great headway in November. But then, without warning, I received notice that one of the bills had been sent to collections.

I called the billing department for the umpteenth time and asked for a supervisor, only to be denied and left explaining the situation again to whichever billing person of the day happened to answer.

I warned her ahead of time that she was about to get the brunt of my frustration with this whole situation. Long story short, the conversation went nowhere—like every other time I’ve called.

So I reached out, in desperation, to a Colorado non-profit my local healthcare coordinator recommended. She thought they might be able to help me navigate the mess of billing, healthcare, and insurance denials.

I sent them an email and received the most disappointing reply. She was incredibly apologetic as she explained that Dallas can deny our insurance on the premise that we are “out of network.”

Which…is absolutely asinine. It’s not like we chose to have a medical emergency out of state—one my son would not have survived. 🤦🏻‍♀️

So suddenly these bills, which I had been told would be covered because it was a “life or limb emergency,” can actually be denied simply because Dallas doesn’t want to do the work required to get our insurance in network. I’m oversimplifying here to keep this brief.

That email, though, was truly the undoing of me.

I have been chasing billing departments, bills, collections notices, and endless phone calls for nine months, all under the assumption that eventually I’d win—even if it meant taking the case to the court of appeals.

But when that non-profit replied with that news, it let all the wind out of my sails. Every last ounce of fight I had in me…poof. Gone.

And that’s when my nervous system basically said, “Yeah…I’m out. ✌️”

Before I left the store that Friday to head home, one of my staff members remarked that I looked awful (okay, she didn’t say it quite like that…but basically).

I said, “Yeah, well, I feel awful.” I told her about the email I had received and how defeated I was.

She responded with a question: “So…when are you going to stop? When are you going to take a break from everything? Go away or something.”

I didn’t have much to say back because, truthfully, I agreed. I told her I was trying to figure out how I could get myself a break by way of a jail cell for a few days. We both agreed the better option would be an actual break somewhere…away, by myself.

She kept pressing: “Okay, so when? When are you going to go?” Of course I didn’t have an answer. Because if I’m being honest, that feels like another problem to solve…and I just don’t have the bandwidth for it right now.

The next day was the basketball tournament I wrote about in the last entry. The tournament itself was great. It was fun to watch. It always is.

But my nervous system had already been hijacked by the email the day before.

After the tournament ended, that’s when I had the overwhelming urge to just drive.

On Monday, my husband and I went out for a dinner date, and I told him, “I’m hanging by a thread. I’m really, really struggling right now.”

I told him how badly I wanted to just drive off toward Utah—go as far as I could before needing to turn around and be home at a reasonable time.

Wednesday evening, while driving into work for my office hours, I recorded an audio message for one of my friends. She’s a really good listener, and I knew she would let me just talk it out. I was parked outside the store trying to wrap it up. The message was already about ten minutes long…but it turned into twenty-seven, filled with a lot of tears.

As I sat there in my car, staring at Colorado Baby on the corner in the dark, I just broke down crying. I told her how much I care about the store, my staff, and all the people Colorado Baby has been able to journey with into and through motherhood.

Seeing the store in the darkness, its window lights shining through, made me really emotional. Not only is it on the corner, but it serves as a true cornerstone.

As I sat there in the dark, I started thinking about the way the store has become an anchor for so many women stepping into motherhood. And then the other side of that thought came quietly behind it.

The responsibility of keeping that anchor there ultimately rests with me. I carry that weight with honor because I know how much this place matters.

But in that moment, already worn thin from everything else, feeling both the importance of it and the weight of it at the same time…it overcame me.

Thursday evening we had an end-of-season basketball party for one of my kids.

It was a nice night. Party food with the other parents, the kids hanging out, the coaches recognizing each player one by one, and the evening ending with a game of the team versus their coaches, siblings, and parents. It was fun to watch and laugh at.

During the last quarter, one of my long-time friends — someone I mostly only see during basketball season now — asked if I tend to be more of a glass-half-full or glass-half-empty kind of person.

I chuckled and told her, “Well…normally half full. But right now I’m a glass EMPTY person.” She didn’t know anything about my son’s diagnosis or everything that has followed since then.

That conversation led to more processing on my end and helped me pinpoint something I hadn’t quite articulated before. I realized while talking with her that the urge I had to just drive off to Utah wasn’t actually about escaping my reality.

That wasn’t it at all.

What felt appealing about driving away for a few hours was the rest it would give my nervous system, which feels completely stuck in overdrive.

I told her, “I feel like I need a hard reset. Like a factory reset on a phone.” She said that during a really difficult season with one of her teen sons a couple of years ago, she started cold plunging.

As she described it, I said, “Yes. That’s exactly what I mean. Like a shock to the system that jolts it back to a normal baseline.” Now…I’m not interested in cold plunging (at least not at this point). But the conversation helped me keep unpacking what I was actually feeling and what the underlying need was.

The next day — Friday — is the day I cried the whole way to the store.

I was scheduled for the morning shift on the sales floor. My drive to the store is only about ten minutes, and I spent that time crying out of pure overwhelm, begging God for some kind of relief.

Construction on my way into town rerouted me onto a slightly different route than I normally take to where I park.

On that route I passed the Catholic church, and their marquee read:

“JESUS is here.”

I kind of smirked through tear-stained cheeks. Yeah…I know He is. But I feel a little left high and dry right now, God.

A few minutes later I reached the parking lot where I usually park, across from the library. There was a landscaping company truck parked there while workers were blowing leaves around.

The name of the company on the side of the truck read:

Peaceful Valley.

Ha. Okay, God. I see that. I see you.

As I sat there still crying, it felt like a quiet reminder that God is present even in the valleys — and that His peace is there too.

I wiped my face quickly so I could hurry down to the store and open the doors at 10:00.

The Edge I Don't Want to Reach

Friday evening, before heading home, another one of my staff members was wrapping up her shift in the store. She let me ambush her for a moment with my woes (thank you, Sundi).

I told her my fear at this point is being pushed to a place where I’m forced to stop because my body or my health gives out. I don’t want to be forced to stop. I want to stop by my own volition.

She replied, “So when are you leaving? When are you going to give yourself a break from it all? Just go.” Oof. Yeah. I know.

That night, as I was falling asleep, I felt the weight of everything pressing down hard. Mainly the fear around the health side of things. I felt like I could be crushed under it all.

I kept thinking, I don’t want to create bigger problems for myself down the road. I want to be aware of what I need right now so I can protect myself.

Over the last ten years, I’ve watched friends push themselves far too hard through stressful seasons. I watched them keep going when their bodies were clearly waving the white flag…and eventually their health gave out.

I don’t want that. I want to learn from what I’ve observed.

Laying there, my nervous system felt like it was going to buzz right through the roof of my house. I can’t even fully explain the feeling.

Tingly. Yucky. Flighty.

Saturday — today.

I headed into the store for my regular Saturday shift (office day) around 11:30 to get a couple hours of work in before a coffee walk-talk I had planned with a customer / Dear Reader / friend. This is the third walk we’ve gone on together, and she is…a gem of a listener.

I honestly feel bad about how much I’ve dominated every one of our walks with my current struggles and woes. But I’m trying not to let that shame swallow me up and instead just appreciate that someone has given me the space to talk, while asking really good questions without trying to solve my problems.

Mara…thank you.

As soon as we started walking, she asked me point-blank how I was doing. The only context she had were the recent Just Me entries. I knew there was no hiding behind a polite answer with her. It was going to be the truth.

A few strides into our walk she was already asking me, “So when are you going to leave? When are you going to give yourself the rest you need? When?” 🙄 lol

Mara gave me space to process and struggle through our conversation for two and a half hours of her time. What a gift. Oh, that everyone would have a Mara in their life at a moment of utter fallout.

She cast no judgment. No solutions. No should-haves.
She listened.
She asked questions.
And then she offered to pray.

And not just a “doing my duty to offer a prayer” kind of prayer. But a prayer with conviction, care, and power. A prayer from someone who had just walked four miles with me and all my woes.

I had shared with Mara that where I’m wrestling right now is with my humanness — the frailty of being a person. And with trusting God to show me what He wants from me, and being still enough to hear it. Trying to discern what is from Him and what is from me…trying to fix my own problems with human solutions when maybe there is something much deeper He has for me.

I don’t want to miss what He has because I’m so hung up on trying to solve my own problems.

Still reading? I'm thankful you're here. If you feel a little quiet camaraderie in this entry, click this link—it helps keep these emails reaching inboxes.

When God Met Me on the Floor

After we went our separate ways, I came back to the store to continue working on the other Just Me entry I had been preparing for this week.

I took a long dinner break, then put my playlist on shuffle and sat back down to keep editing.

A song came on and hit me like a load of bricks.

Deep inhale. Eyes closed. (I’m trying to paint a picture of what I’m literally doing in this very moment as I prepare to share this next part with you). God…how do I share these things? Exhale.

I’m about to invite you into one of the most personal, private…holy spaces of my life. I hesitate to even share this because I never want to make light of what God has done — and is doing — in my life. I want all the honor to point toward Him, not toward me.

As this song played (and I’ve heard it many times), I felt driven to the floor in absolute humility.

Who am I before the living God?

Wow…I don’t have words to describe a moment like this.

I backed the song up to start over, turned the lights off in the office, and laid flat on my face.

Experiences like these are unbelievably humbling. When you realize how small you are before the God of the universe…and yet how deeply He cares for you. What can you possibly do to show any depth of reverence before a Holy, perfect God?

(Dear Readers, I’m dying typing this out. Like…I never want to come out in public again. WHY AM I DOING THIS TO MYSELF.)

I laid there flat on my face, hands slightly lifted, and just let this song become my prayer.

(Bold is my emphasis. I also removed several lines to shorten the songs — I'd love for you to listen to the full songs which are linked.)

As I lay there on the floor, hands slightly raised, I begged God to give me strength.

"God. I cannot go on without Your strength. You can have my life — use it however You see fit — but I need Your strength.

Please…give me strength, Lord.

I need You to show up in a mighty way. I need You to move mountains for me because I have nothing left to give."

Lying there, I acknowledged how hard I’ve been trying to solve my own problems. Trying to hold everything together by my own effort.

But God. Only in His strength can I make it.

I listened to the song twice.

Then I got up, sat back down at my computer, and planned to continue working on the entry I had been editing.

But as the next song began, my ears perked up. The lyrics caught my attention immediately. Another song that felt almost painfully appropriate for the moment. I listened quietly as it felt like God was speaking directly to me through the music.

Again, I turned back to my entry to continue working. But the next song that came up (remember, these were randomly shuffled) stopped me again from what I was doing.

It was as if God was saying, Hey…hold up. Slow down and listen for a moment.

He was leading me through a series of songs, speaking to me in a moment when I desperately needed to hear Him. I cannot get over how personal God is. How near He is to those who draw near to Him.

As each song came on, I just sat there in awe.

Pausing. Listening.

It felt as though I was communing with the Almighty right there in the quiet of my office. God is wildly personal.

As the songs continued, one after another, it began to feel unmistakable. Like each one had been handpicked for me in that moment. And I felt this overwhelming sense that the entry I had been working on was not the one I was supposed to publish this week.

I was halfway through formatting it. But as God reached right down into my shuffled playlist to remind me that He is near…I knew I needed to write something different.

I needed to write about the present moment—and everything that had led me to it.

EXHALE.

I’m struggling for words.

I had thought about sharing a picture here that I wrestled with AI to create months ago. I went back to see if I had already used it in an entry (I was pretty sure I had), and sure enough…I did. When I opened JM#7, I came across a letter I wrote to you, Dear Reader, back then that still rings true now. If not even more true.

In that entry I shared how this whole Just Me series started—just me trying to process grief in a private journal. Inviting you into it changed something. Writing here forces me to slow down and name what’s actually happening in my heart, and somehow it has created a quiet camaraderie between us that I never expected.

If you’d like to read that letter again in full, you can find it at the end of JM#7 in the section titled Why I Write.

You all mean so much to me. Thank you for not only dipping your toes into this space with me…but being willing to jump all the way in.

Thank you for letting me pour my heart out here. My one prayer is that it directs your eyes toward the One who made you and longs for a personal relationship with you.

All praise to God for His lovingkindness.

Were it not for Him…

Honestly, I don’t want to imagine that reality.

Praise be 🙌 to God.

— Just Me[gan]

If you enjoy this email series, would you please share it? Forward it. Whisper about it over coffee. I’d be grateful. ❤️