This post is Part II in a reflection series on defending sacred ground in the aftermath of spiritual trauma. For Part I, see “Representing Without Judgment.
I have continued to process the evidence that I had to review and brace myself to review the remainder of the evidence that wasn’t ready last time I went to the lab. I have no idea what awaits me on that day, but my prayer has been, “God please don’t let anything in the remaining evidence be worse than what I’ve already seen.” Only time will tell if that will be the case, but in the meantime, I’ve had to figure out how to move forward despite what I saw.
I decided to reach out to my First Lady because the struggle is real. She reminded me that my grief wasn’t brokenness—it was proof I hadn’t lost my humanity. Much of what she said echoed what I wrote here. That alignment feels holy. It feels like God is holding me on both sides of the trauma.
Healing, in this season, doesn’t look like retreat—it looks like the biweekly acupuncture appointments I love despite being terrified of the needles, creating planner layouts with my various pens, highlighters and stickers, and hot yoga and weightlifting sessions that demand so much focus I’m only present in that space and journaling the things that I struggle to audibly release. It’s finding sacred pause between the trauma and the task. And it’s enough—for now.
Introduction
The tension between trauma and ongoing professional demands is real. Healing isn’t a destination—it’s a rhythm, a way of moving through the ache while still answering the call.
I didn’t choose this case. But I chose the work. And somehow, even after bearing witness to the unthinkable—I’m still called. Still here. Still holding grace in one hand and justice in the other.
The Weight of Witnessing
Some cases leave a residue that doesn’t wash away. The courtroom demands strength, but the soul feels the weight of desecration.
Balancing professional obligation with personal capacity is a delicate act. It’s not just about what you can do—it’s about what your spirit can carry.
Finding Sacred Pause
Healing doesn’t always mean stopping. Sometimes, it means finding sacred pause in the midst of motion.
Deep breaths and calming scriptures.
Uplilfting worship songs.
Moments in nature that remind you of God’s creation.
These pauses are small, but they’re sacred. They’re enough to keep going.
Healing in Motion
The work doesn’t stop, but neither does the need for restoration. Healing in motion looks like:
Therapy sessions that feel like lifelines.
Spiritual practices that anchor you.
Self-care routines that remind you to breathe.
It’s not perfect, but it’s enough. And enough is holy.
Conclusion
Healing doesn’t require a full stop to be sacred. It’s choosing care in motion, grace in fragments, and peace in the midst of pain.
Some days, it’s acupuncture and planner spreads. Other days, it’s hot yoga and worship songs that crack the silence open just enough to breathe again.
And through it all—grief, evidence, courtroom ache—God is holding me on both sides of the trauma. In the spaces where justice and mercy collide, in the moments where my hands tremble, in the quiet journaling of words I can’t yet speak… I am held.
For those still holding space while hurting: You are seen. You are held. And you are enough.
On (In)justice 