Where There’s Blayze

A year ago, I welcomed my third child into the world—a beautiful milestone that should be filled with nothing but joy, laughter, and sweet baby snuggles. And while there has been plenty of that, the truth is, this past year has also been one of the hardest of my life.

I’ve spent the majority of it walking through the quiet fog of postnatal depression.

It’s a strange thing to carry deep love and deep sadness at the same time. There were days when I smiled for the camera and days when I could barely lift myself out of bed. There were moments I held my baby close and felt so full—and moments I felt like I was unraveling. It has been a year of paradoxes: joy and grief, connection and loneliness, celebration and survival.

But here I am. Still standing. Still loving. Still healing.

I’ve started talking to a therapist, which has made a world of difference. Giving myself permission to say, “I’m not okay” was one of the bravest things I’ve done. Therapy has helped me begin to untangle the web of guilt, exhaustion, hormones, and identity loss that often comes with motherhood—especially when you’re already stretched thin.

And in the midst of this internal journey, I’ve made a spiritual one too.

My husband is a minister, and I have always supported his calling. That hasn’t changed. But as we both prayed and talked about what I needed in this season of my life, we came to a shared and peaceful decision: I would join a new church.

Not because I’m walking away from him or his ministry, but because I’m walking toward something I need right now—space to grow, to be poured into, and to rediscover myself as more than a pastor’s wife, or even a mother. Just me and God.

It hasn’t been easy. Shifting church communities while still honoring our marriage and callings has required humility, trust, and lots of open conversations. But it’s been worth it. I’m learning that supporting one another doesn’t always look like walking the same exact path. Sometimes it’s cheering each other on as we grow in different gardens.

So as I light a candle on my baby’s first birthday cake, I’m not just celebrating their life. I’m celebrating mine too. A life that didn’t give up. A woman who kept showing up. A mother who is still becoming. A soul that’s being restored.

One year of you, sweet baby.
One year of me, in the dark and coming back to the light.

Here’s to healing. To honesty. To asking for help. And to becoming whole—not all at once, but gently, step by step.