Hay Happens and Hay's Happen

I used to stand in front of my middle school students after they finished an essay or story and ask one simple question:

“So what?”

They would stare at me, unsure what I meant. I wasn’t trying to be mean or sassy. I was trying to get them to find meaning behind their story. So I’d continue:

Why are you telling me this?
Why does it matter?
What’s your point?

I used to drill into my students that every good story needs a “so what,” a reason, a takeaway…a point.

But I’ve realized that question only works for essays, not for real life, especially in seasons of suffering. I’ve had health issues, and I still do. And when you go through a season like that, you don’t ask “so what?” You ask why. Not a “why me?” but more like, why now?

And there isn’t always an answer.

“What’s the point?” doesn’t feel like the right question when you’re just trying to make it through the day. It doesn’t feel meaningful in the moment.

And if I’m honest, for a long time my story felt like one big unanswered question:

So what is all of this for?

But today at church, something hit me. 

“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ… who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction…” (2 Corinthians 1:3–4)

The pastor focused on those two words: 

So that.

Wow, he comforts me (which He always does), but comfort for me to give another. 

What if my life was never meant to be a “so what”…
What if it’s always been a “so that”?

So that I would slow down and pay attention. 
So that I would be humbled.
So that I would stop performing and moving so much.
So that I would actually feel what others are walking through.
So that I could sit across from someone in pain and not try to fix it, but to understand it.

So that someday, I could help someone else.
And so that I can give something I may have needed so deeply myself.

Everyone has a “so that.” It’s something bigger than you. A purpose. Maybe it’s the question we’ve been missing. Something may have been given to you, a struggle, a hardship, a challenge, a tragedy, and it can be devastating. Heartbreaking. It can change your life in ways you didn’t plan. 

But perhaps it’s time to finish the sentence:

This has been happening to me so that….

For me, it hasn’t explained everything, but it has given it meaning and purpose.

And for that…
I can trust Him.

Walking Up the Down Escalator

I’ve always loved escalators. 

When I was a kid, I had this strange fascination with trying to walk up the down escalator. I would step onto the moving stairs headed in the opposite direction and start climbing. Usually, an adult nearby would quickly reprimand me and send me back the right way.

But it was the challenge that excited me. The harder you pushed, the faster you climbed. At least that’s what it felt like. Eventually, though, you realize something strange: no matter how much effort you put in, you barely move. The escalator keeps pulling you back down.

For years, I approached my body the same way.

Eat to Move

As a kid, I spent a lot of time home alone after school. Being a latch-key child meant the kitchen became a place for experimentation.

My creations weren’t exactly gourmet since my mom didn’t buy the usual processed junk food. So I became a bit of a chemist: cocoa powder, Cool Whip, and a saltine cracker, for example. Sometimes the results were surprisingly good although weird. 

But somewhere in those years, a subtle shift happened. I began to realize that I had control over what went into my mouth, and that awareness created a powerful sense of agency.

Alongside that control, another habit quietly formed: if I ate more, I felt the need to move more.

At first it seemed harmless. Logical. But over time it became automatic.

Constantly Undernourished

I think many women can relate to this pattern because we are often sent the same message: if a little is good, then more must be better. Especially when calories increase for any reason, many of us feel the need to “balance it out” with more movement.

Over time, that thinking creates a familiar habit:

increase calories → increase activity → weight doesn’t change (or it does briefly) → reduce calories again.

The body begins to expect that whenever more food arrives, more movement will follow. So instead of allowing nourishment to stay, the system compensates.

It’s a seductive pattern, and many people can get stuck in it for years without realizing it.

What happens next is subtle but important: the body never fully experiences consistent nourishment. Calories come in, but they are quickly burned off. Instead of allowing nourishment to stay, the body is constantly trying to keep up. Over time, it becomes much harder to build the resilience, stamina, and lean strength that most women are working toward.

Over time this pattern can also keep the nervous system on high alert, relying more on stress hormones like adrenaline to keep energy moving instead of allowing the body to fully recover and rebuild.

Why the Body Needs Consistency

One of the most important shifts I made recently felt completely foreign at first. For years, I paired eating more with more activity. Any increase in food was quickly followed by more movement.

I had to change the pattern. 

For a period of time, I simply ate more, and I became far more sedentary than I had been in years. At first, this felt almost irresponsible.

Metabolically, however, it was an important signal to my body. I had to create a new pattern so my body could learn something different:

If food increases, movement does not automatically increase.

My body finally experienced something it hadn’t felt in a long time: Consistent nourishment.

When the body begins to trust that fuel will remain available, it can finally begin rebuilding energy, strength, and resilience. For me, this was the first time that had ever happened.

What Actually Builds a Strong Body

The physique many women say they want…lean, strong, and feminine…rarely comes from running more, walking more, swimming more, or simply moving more.

More often it develops through a much less glamorous approach:

adequate nourishment (yes, protein through whole foods)
good sleep
resistance training
walking and normal daily movement
lower stress hormones

and patience.

Sometimes the most disciplined choice is counterintuitive: allowing nourishment to stay long enough for the body to remember what strength feels like again.

And when that happens, something interesting begins to change.

The body begins to step out of “fight or flight.” Energy becomes steadier. Strength builds more naturally. Movement starts to feel productive again instead of punishment.

For me, it was time to turn around on that escalator.

Climbing up the down escalator led me nowhere fast. But it took me way too long to figure that out, and I had to learn the hard way. (and I’m not there yet).

So now I choose to step onto the right escalator and finally let my body work with me instead of against me.

The Ripple Effect of Illness on a Family 

She woke up today feeling like she had run a marathon. Her body felt heavy; her legs burned. A wave of nausea sat in her stomach, and she felt tranquilized, even after eight hours of sleep. She whispered to herself,

“C’mon… you have to get yourself together.”

Her wonderful husband makes the coffee as she packs the lunches.

They don’t talk much in the morning.

Not because there’s distance, but because there’s understanding. He doesn’t ask, “How did you sleep?” or “How are you feeling?” He waits for her to speak first.

There is so much love, but at times, it goes unspoken because right now, it shows up in other ways: in patience; in serving one another; in just presence.

Part of the heaviness she carries isn’t just physical.

It is the guilt.

It’s the constant guilt of not being the version of herself her family knows best: the one who sets the tone in the home. She knows that when she feels stuck in bed… when she has no energy, no spark, no desire to do anything but lie down… it’s hard not to wonder what that does to the people she loves most.

How do they feel it?

What do they carry because of it?

She wants to be better, and it is not about her anymore.

It’s for them.

Because when you love this deeply… it’s what makes you feel alive.

It’s where the joy is.

But on days like this…when her body won’t cooperate, the guilt gets louder than her symptoms.

Quiet Thoughts She Couldn’t Say

There were moments she didn’t say out loud, but she wished she could just be alone. It didn’t feel selfish to want to be alone… at least, that’s what she told herself. It also wasn’t because she didn’t love them. It was all about not wanting to be seen like this. She felt…. pathetic.

She would think, “You didn’t sign up for this… you can go.”

And she would fear that her daughter would remember this version of her…
the one in bed… instead of who she used to be.

She was tired… and tired of feeling like someone she didn’t recognize.

The Weight the Family Carries Too

No one really talks about the family in this situation. There are endless conversations about what the patient needs: physically, emotionally, mentally. But far less about the people living alongside it: the husband who must adjust, the child who grows up around it, and the family who slowly becomes more distant from it.

Life used to have things they could count on like beach trips, Sedona multiple times a year, date nights, hosted dinners and small groups, the chaos of playdates.

Now, it feels different, and she wonders if they feel the heaviness as much as she does.

Everything is more tentative. Plans are made carefully, often with an unknown answer: Will today be a functioning day, or will everything need to stop? Because of that, life becomes harder to predict, harder to plan, even harder to anticipate.

Over time, that unpredictability begins to shape the tone of the home. They learn to hold plans loosely and adjust expectations. There is still so much love, but there is also a profound loss….the loss of being able to fully count on how a day will unfold.

It’s no one’s fault, but she still feels responsible for all of it. And the weight of that makes it even harder.

The Emotional Weight No One Knows How to Talk About

There is also an emotional weight that is harder to explain.

She wonders if they feel like they have to be careful around her. If her unpredictability makes them pause and hold back parts of themselves. The last thing she wants is for her home to feel like it’s walking on eggshells.

She doesn’t want to be the one who needs; she wants to be the one they come to. The safe place. The one who holds it all together.

And yet, in this season, the roles don’t always feel that way. Sometimes she knows they are doing more (physically and emotionally), and she feels the weight of that.

Not just because it’s hard…but because she can’t be who she wants to be for them right now.

Setting a New Tone Together

The loss has been real. The adventures, the “fun” things they used to do… the life that once felt easy, and maybe even taken for granted. That’s a loss that has had to be grieved.

But over time, something has shifted. Not in a way she expected or would have chosen, but something meaningful has still taken shape. Her husband has become more than just her partner; he is her best friend in a deeper way. He knows her inside and out, and their connection is no longer built on what they do together, but on presence and showing up for each other in ways that fit this season.

The laughter is still there, but it has changed. Sometimes it comes through their pets, sometimes through a shared show, but they have learned to look for it. They allow it in the small, ordinary moments instead of waiting for it to come from a full life.

They’ve learned that comparison only makes it harder to see what is still here.

In an unexpected way, her presence has taken on a different kind of meaning in her daughter’s life. Even on the days she is in bed, she is still there.

Listening.

She may not be able to play hoops with her, but she is emotionally present in a way her daughter notices and values.

There is also a deeper sense of gratitude in their home now. Not forced, but practiced. At night, before or during dinner, they take time to say what they are grateful for; simple things, small things that might have once gone unnoticed.

It has become part of their normal routine, grounding them in what is still here.

There are still days she cries and mourns what is not, but now they have each other to gently bring the focus back to what is.