New Book Release: Timeout

New Book Release “TIMEOUT”

I originally wrote this for myself, but I believe someone else may need it too.

For most of my adult life, I’ve been a private person. I carried so many secrets, so much heaviness, so much that stayed locked inside my mind. Some things I remembered, some I didn’t—but most of it, I surrendered to God, my Heavenly Father.

Early in my life, I used to ask, “Who in hell left the gate open?” I meant it from a generational perspective—wondering which generation before me didn’t stop long enough to heal, to break harmful patterns, to prevent the same pain from spilling into the next generation. As I grew, I realized something even deeper: we all had been leaving the gate open, passing down unhealed trauma and unhealthy patterns without even knowing it.

And in my own generation? I saw myself doing it too. That’s when I became the generational breaker. I didn’t want to pause in my pain, but I had to—because my soul was collapsing. I was broken.

I had given so much of myself away to so many people, believing that was love. The truth? I had no idea what love really was for a long time. When you step back and really examine the people around you, you begin to see something: we often attract what we’re wrestling with and what we need to heal. There’s purpose even in the mayhem.

One thing that changed my life was this: Take the titles off people. Stop seeing them as Mom, Dad, Sister, Brother, Husband, Wife, Best Friend. Start seeing them as human beings. When you do that, you start to understand how precious time and forgiveness truly are.

For years, I blamed so many people for my anger, pain, and sadness. My bitterness grew. Codependency crept in. And eventually I realized I needed to change. That moment is where Pausing in My Pain was born—later known as my personal “Timeout.” I even imagined myself raising one finger like I was excusing myself quietly from church before the service ended.

I broke when I couldn’t carry everyone anymore. I barely carried my own book bag and tried to carry so many more in my own strength. I collapsed. I wanted to give up. It felt like I had allowed so many people onto my boat—people I valued and cared for—but secretly, some were drilling holes in it. Whether from their own pain, envy, comparison, or simply seeing only the outside of me. I used to warn them, “Be careful what you ask for. You would have to take all of me, everything I’ve been through.” And even the book I wrote shares only a small part of that. If you knew the whole story, would you still want my life?

Getting to know my Heavenly Father changed everything. Sitting in His presence and reading His Word daily felt like stepping onto God’s Golden Glide. And no, it didn’t happen overnight. We’re human—we’re flesh—so I had to die to self daily. I beat myself up for so long, calling myself stupid for the choices I made. So when someone else even used that word, I snapped. I shaped my anger around them, blaming them for insecurities I hadn’t healed.

There came a point when I realized I was the only one trying to dump water out of the sinking boat with a cup. I kept us all afloat for as long as I could, but eventually, I couldn’t anymore. So I jumped ship. That day, I gave myself permission to Pause in My Pain.

It’s not easy. It’s hard work. But it’s absolutely doable—not in your own strength, but in God’s.

If you read my book, don’t read it to compare, or to figure out who is who, or what happened with who. I published it so anyone can read, relate, reflect, and recognize the importance of not letting the enemy kill, steal, and destroy. Instead, I want you to learn to pause in your pain and live life abundantly.

That’s why I stand firmly on John 10:10. (look it up for yourself)

We sometimes allow the people around us to shape us into anger, bitterness, unhappiness, and dependency. That’s exhausting. You end up running away from yourself, over and over, until you hit dead ends or keep going in circles—because pain is familiar, and familiarity can feel comfortable even when it’s destroying you.

**But change requires discomfort. It requires doing it afraid. Not knowing the next step but trusting God anyway. Showing up anyway. And that’s what I started doing. I chose obedience.

And that obedience began with one simple, life-altering decision: I paused in my pain.**