How I’m Finding Hope and Healing (in my own story), Part II: A Letter to a Friend

—Hello friends—

I’m so grateful that you’re joining me on this healing journey!

As you’ve likely already noticed, this is the second part of a new series in which I’m choosing to openly share about how I’m learning and growing and healing while—at the same time—grieving the loss of the love, relationships, and life story, that I’ve spent my entire adult life cultivating (and thinking I would always have).

I wrote the following letter in response to a friend asking if I might have a bit of wisdom to share. In all honesty, most days, I’m not sure how much wisdom I have to offer… but it was written, nonetheless, with an authentic willingness to be vulnerable and also with the hope of encouraging others, who may be grieving similar losses of their own.

To help you more fully understand the context of my family’s story you can find the first part of this series at… ‘How I’m Finding Healing (in my own story), Part I: An Unexpected-New-Life-Journey’—

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In this series, I’m sharing a deeply personal part of my own life story that—until now—only a handful, of those closest to my family and I, have been entrusted with (in regards to my separation and upcoming divorce, after more than 30 years of navigating this beautiful life together). It’s also part of my story that, once shared, may or may not cost me, and my family, a handful of our—more conservative—friends and perhaps even some of our family, too.

“So why, in the world, would I share this?”— you might ask.

Quite honestly, there are a good many reasons to share, but here are a handful of those I’m considering most as I type:

For one, just as with any of my other creative work, my hope is to simply invite others into the conversation, while also helping them to feel seen and heard, known and loved…

And, friends, if I can do this by sharing my honest story, through my writing here on Substack, then I truly believe it’s worth it.

Likewise, over the past year-and-a-half or so, I’ve been actively learning to accept—and also to honor—the fact that in order for me to move forward with my own story, I must first be able to share a bit of my family’s collective story as well.

When my family and I first began this part of our collective journey, we of course found many folks who were navigating the more commonly talked about challenges that come with separation (of any kind), and yet we found very few whose separation stories looked like ours.

There were even fewer still who had found both the courage, and the support, they needed, to safely tell their authentic story… especially among Christian faith communities.

And in turn we will be ever-grateful, to those who have shared their stories, for helping us to find the courage, to share our own story, too, in hopes that no one else should have to go this journey alone.

Most importantly though, as I shared in my previous post, I truly believe that openness and truth will always make for far better companions, than loneliness and isolation ever will, especially among the safest-of-places-and-spaces. 

So with that said—and perhaps with an extra bit of courage in both my heart and my step—here’s my letter to a friend:

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“Hello again friend,

Thank you for your kind message. I’ve found myself with an unusually quiet house, and a few extra spoons, today so I thought I’d set aside a bit of time to send you a reply. This may be a bit long… but before offering up any "wisdom" I feel like it’s only right (and ethical) to first share a bit about where I’m coming from, as each of our life stories—and what might work for us—is unique and I hope to honor that in my response.  

Firstly, you are certainly not alone in walking these otherwise unfamiliar paths, nor in trying to find words for the damage that has been done in the name of the church, especially when it comes to the way women and other marginalized folks have been so deeply broken and hurt by the actions of Christians. I confess that, like many others who have suffered at the hand of the church, I have also unintentionally inflicted hurt and pain over the years—oftentimes by simply lacking the courage to stand up to the patriarchy sooner, and other times because I thought I was doing what was right—in hindsight I see how wrong I was and I’m doing all I can to learn and grow and heal, so as to not repeat my past mistakes in the future.

That said, my own journey through the wilderness, after leaving the churches that I once loved—and so often gave my all to, while serving in unpaid-ministry for nearly a decade—has been a meandering one at worst, and a healing one at best, and I’m thankful for the welcoming voices of others who have come before us, as they continue to help me find my way through. 

And then, wouldn’t you know it, even long after I’d already begun to find my footing on my journey of untangling my faith, Sarah Bessey’s book ‘Field Notes for the Wilderness’ has proved to be an unexpectedly kind and gentle companion to me, these past several months, as I navigate the end of my marriage, seek to embrace healing, and begin to (re)imagine and (re)write my future story. 

While the church has indeed played an integral part in my journey as a wife and a mother, I also recognize the privilege I have, in saying that the reasons my ex-partner/co-parent and I have for ending our marriage, are very different from many other women I know who are beginning new lives (and stories) right now. 

What I mean by that is that we really have had a wonderful and loving marriage, with many grand adventures, four beautiful children, three darling little grandchildren and despite our ups and downs and financial challenges, along the way, we’ve always managed to find our path through, until now. He has been the gravity to my helium (and vice versa) and we have learned ever-so-much as we’ve grown—onward and upward—together along the way.

So rather than some great offense, we’d just become so entangled in unhealthy co-dependencies that our marriage finally fell apart—when I stopped trying to hold it all together—and accepted that despite the fact that we both wanted to make it work, there was nothing left to save. 

That’s when I unexpectedly found myself embracing the willingness to let go of our marriage, in hopes that we might be able to salvage our friendship (in an effort to become healthy co-parents and not pass on our own traumas to our children).

I’m sharing this with you, not to trauma-dump, but rather because I understand that, because of my privilege, any encouragement or wisdom I might be able to offer other women may not apply to their own unique situations and circumstances (especially if their marriage is unsafe). I would never want someone to take my words as what “should be done" but rather to say that “this is what I’m learning in my own journey and I hope my story can help to encourage others along the way”.

With that said, here's a bit about our story alongside what has helped me to grieve and grow and heal through it so far… 

My husband and I have been together since we were teenagers. We became Christians together, as new parents, when we were in our 20s and served in ministry throughout much of our 30s. We left the non-denominational churches, in our 40s, wandering for a good many years, in search of a safer place for our—queer and neurodivergent—kids to worship when they were in their teens, and have since found a welcoming place at the communion table, among a small Episcopal parish, just a bit south of Atlanta, GA.

After navigating our way through many years of both health related and financial challenges (since leaving our life back home in the PNW—8 years ago—to start our little permaculture farm here in GA) we finally reached an impasse in our marriage last Spring… 

It all crumbled rather suddenly when (shortly before he turned 50) he learned that he is in fact Autistic, after suffering for many years with what we now know to be Autistic burnout. 

Meanwhile, I had emotionally supported him, and our family, in every way possible, for so many years that I had nothing left to give to anyone, including myself. 

When he finally began to un-mask his Autism, he realized how unhappy he really was, and he decided that he wanted a separation last Autumn. We tried, one last time, to make our marriage work last Winter (at his request) but by this Spring we finally accepted that we were growing in very different directions and wanted very different futures. So we made the decision together that we would end our marriage, while moving forward in our own directions, in hopes of growing and healing individually so we could be healthy co-parents for our children and family.

Despite our friends’ and extended family’s assumptions and prayers that we would “reconcile” so it could be a “testament to God”, I can honestly say that I never once prayed for reconciliation of any kind (even though my husband did). Not because I didn't love him, but because I did, and my heart just couldn’t bear my hopes being deferred anymore, so I willingly chose that I would only ever pray for healing, from there on out… And I believe that decision has been my saving grace.

And then—not long after finalizing our separation, and after a lifetime of wrestling within himself—he was finally able to find the courage to come out to our family and a few very close friends, earlier this Spring, with the knowledge that he is gay. 

My family and I love him deeply, and always will, and we are wholeheartedly supporting him as he works to grow and heal, in an effort to better understand who he is and the future story he wants to live out. 

We are now permanently separated, even though we are continuing to live in the same big-old-rambling house, while we work on paying down debt so we can afford to divorce. 

I never would have chosen this to be part of our journey, but here we are… 

And since you asked if I might share a bit of wisdom, all that I have to offer is a small handful of the things I’m choosing to do daily, so that one day, when I look back on this part of my life and my story, I can honestly say that I did my best “to love God and to love my neighbors” while still holding space enough to love myself, too...

—I’m choosing to see my former-partner and all those who may cross—or share—this path I’m on, through the lens of dignity, and treating them as such, even when they may not have the capacity to see themselves (or me) through the same lens. 

—I’m allowing myself the space to feel all of my emotions, as I grieve the loss of the love, the life, and the relationships I worked so hard to cultivate (and thought I’d always have) while making room for an even better life story than I could have imagined for myself even just a few short years ago.

—I’m learning and growing as my family and I move from unhealthy co-dependencies to healthy interdependence (this has looked like exploring everything from the Enneagram to Healthy Attachment styles, to the Permaculture Ethics of Earth Care, People Care, and Fair Share, and everything else in between). 

—I’m healing my nervous system, as I also do the deep inner work to heal from past traumas, create new neural pathways, and set healthy boundaries for myself. My favorite learning resource this Spring has been Curable Health’s social media posts. I can’t afford their app yet but the info they share online has offered me many valuable stepping stones so far. 

—I’m remembering who I am, and learning to believe in myself again, as I diligently work to relaunch my small, creative handmade business (on Etsy) alongside my adult daughters (as my business partners) so we can afford to keep our beloved home, and tiny permaculture farm, when the time comes that my former-partner is able to move forward with his life, and he can move into a place of his own.

—And, I’m choosing daily to set myself a place at the collective Gathering Tables among other artists and makers, writers and storytellers, and lovers of all things nature and books and beauty related… Even, or rather especially, when my imposter syndrome tries to convince me that I don’t belong among such creative folks. Communities like The Rabbit Room, artists& FB group, The Habit Co., Substack, and a handful of other online spaces and places have been both a treasured lifeline and an anchor in helping me to find my courage to keep joining you all at the table…

This is a hard one for me, confidence-wise, and I thank you for the part you have played in making me feel seen and heard by simply welcoming me in.” 

—Juanita

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Dear reader:

As vulnerable as this is for me, I’ve come to embrace the (not-so-simple) act of sharing my story—here in writing, for all to see—as one of the most healing steps forward that I’ve taken so far, while also helping me to (re)imagine a new future and (re)write a better story for myself and those I love. 

Because I truly believe that there are times, in this life, when telling our own authentic story is one of the most courageous things we can do…

And this is most definitely one of those times.

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p.s. because there’s (almost) always need for a good postscript these days!

Many thanks again to all of you who have so generously loved, cared for, and encouraged me, and my family, on this new life journey!

I’ll be sharing more about the wonderful communities I mentioned (at the end of my letter to a friend) and will do my best to add cross links in my posts, as I do.

(You know… Just in case you enjoy exploring a good rabbit trail, too!)

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