I’d Rather Run Into the Arms of God Than Return to What Broke Me

I was sitting on my couch, twisting my hair and watching a YouTube video about stewarding what God gives us well. The video also talked about what it means when God gives you another chance. As I listened, I began thinking about the chances God had given me, not only to heal but to return to the parts of myself I had set aside.

God was giving me another chance to step into my purpose: to write, to create, and to rest without worrying that someone I thought loved me would tear down my confidence. During my relationship, I had become stagnant creatively. I cried about it. And when I look back, I can see that I did not love myself enough in that season to walk away. I am learning to give myself grace for that, and to steward this grace and my creativity with care.

The thought took me across the past few years, from 2024 to now. I had been through an engagement and its ending, the loss of my beloved cat, my mother moving in after her divorce, and losing my job. There were times when so much change left me feeling close to the edge. In those difficult seasons, loneliness sometimes made the familiar seem like a place to run back to. I had to remember that the familiar relationship had also been a place where my confidence and self esteem were repeatedly hurt.

I thought of John 15:1 to 8, where Jesus describes himself as the true vine, the Father as the gardener, and the branches being pruned so they can bear fruit. As someone who keeps houseplants and enjoys gardening, I understand pruning as tending: caring for a plant and making room for new growth. I have come to see my own healing that way. God was not asking me to disappear; I was being invited to grow beyond what had kept me from flourishing.

Healing has taken work. It has looked like prayer, therapy, journaling, reflection, and learning to choose myself with compassion. It has meant remembering the strength it took to leave a broken place and honoring the inner work that helped me find my way back. When loneliness whispered that I should return, I needed to remember what it took to get free.

In February, I found myself on that same couch, watching the Super Bowl. The Patriots were losing when my ex texted me, unprompted. He told me he had never really wanted to get married. Since we were both getting older, he suggested that we have a child. He said I was the only woman he would want to have a child with, and that the child could live with me most of the time while he saw the child every now and then.

I asked him, in effect, whether he was proposing that we raise a child under two roofs with most of the responsibility falling to me. His suggestion struck a chord. I felt heartbroken, and I saw our relationship differently. I had once been his fiancée; now I was being asked to imagine a future without the marriage I wanted, while remaining tied to someone who had repeatedly undermined my confidence. Given our history, I could not ignore my fear that the same painful dynamic would continue into parenting. I knew I could not return to that relationship.

That boundary is mine. I have respect for women and families whose lives include co parenting with an ex. My choice is not a judgment of anyone else’s. I simply know the kind of partnership and future I want for myself, and I am allowed to honor that.

By October, sitting on the same couch has become a mirror. In February, I was sitting with the pain of what he said and what it seemed to ask of me. Now I can look back with more freedom. I can give glory to God for healing me through that moment and through the hurt I had carried from before. I can see that not going back was another chance to protect the person I was becoming.

I believe God is giving me another chance to create, to love, to be compassionate, and to forgive. I do not have to run back to what broke me in order to prove that I am kind or forgiving. I can extend grace and still keep a boundary. I can use my voice and my writing to help someone else remember that they, too, are allowed to choose healing.

When loneliness rises, I want to remember that loneliness is a feeling, not an instruction. Desperation can make us reach for what once hurt us. But I do not have to return to a person, a job, or a place simply because it is familiar. I can pause. I can pray. I can reach for support. I can remember the strength, healing, and faith that brought me this far.

I would rather run into the arms of God than return to the arms of what broke me. I trust that the pruning is making room for new growth. When I look back at the woman who kept choosing healing, I see someone who was not forgotten or forsaken. I see someone being restored, one brave choice at a time.

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Author bio: Andrea Stallworth is a Boston-born, Alabama-based writer, author, educator, and photographer. Her work explores faith, healing, identity, and creative renewal. She is the author of If I’m Honest and writes as Brown Girl From Boston.

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