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THE PARTS OF ME I PUT ON HOLD · What We Build From Here

• What We Build From Here Episode 2 Exact Uploaded Photo (1): Life took a turn, but I'm still standing. Didn't see the road, but I'm still planning. Through every season, through every tear, there's still a purpose waiting here. We're moving forward, leaving fear. There's more to the story. Real stories, real conversations, faith and purpose beyond the pivot. Welcome to what we build from here with Amanda Johnson. Hey everybody, and welcome back to What We Build From Here. I'm your host, Amanda Johnson. And today I want to talk about something that's been on my mind, the parts of ourselves we put on hold. I'm talking about your feelings, your healing, your dreams, your peace, your emotional well-being, the things you've experienced that you haven't really had an opportunity to process. And the parts of yourself that you've pushed to the side because life kept happening and somebody always needed something. Because I think sometimes we can get so caught up in being everything everybody else needs that we forget we're people with needs of our own. And it's for anybody who has ever looked at life and wondered, at what point did I stop making room for myself? You can get up every morning, go to work. Take care of your children, handle your responsibilities, answer everybody's calls, make sure things are getting done. And from the outside, everything looks fine. But what does fine really mean? Does fine mean you're actually okay? Or does fine mean you've learned how to function no matter what you're going through? Because those are two different things. I've been thinking about how we become the person everybody depends on. Because I don't think it always happens overnight. Sometimes it starts when we're young. Maybe you were the responsible child who didn't want to cause problems. Maybe you learned early in life that if something needed to be done, you had to figure out how to do it. Or maybe it happened later, you became a parent, or you got married, started a career, you took on responsibilities, and somewhere along the way, People started looking to you whenever something needed to be handled. And there's nothing wrong with being dependable. I think it's a beautiful thing when people know they can count on you. But here's my question. At what point does being dependable turn into feeling responsible for everybody else's well-being? Because there's a difference. I can love you without being responsible for every decision you make. I can support you without solving every problem you encounter. I can care about you and what you're going through without making it my responsibility to carry the entire situation. But sometimes we don't recognize that difference. We just know somebody needs something, and our first instinct is to figure out what we can do. And I've thought about that in my own life. I'm a mother, I'm a daughter, I'm a sister, I'm a friend. And I care about the people in my life. When somebody I love is going through something, naturally I want to help. Wanting to help and having the capacity to help are not always the same thing. Because I might genuinely want to be there for somebody, but that doesn't mean I have the time, energy, or resources to do everything they need. And sometimes that's hard to acknowledge. Especially when you're used to being the person who figures things out. Have you ever said yes to something before you even stop to think about whether you could realistically do it? Somebody calls, they explain what's going on, and before you know it, you're saying, okay, I'll figure something out. But you haven't checked your schedule. You haven't thought about what you already have going on. You haven't considered how it's going to affect you. You just know somebody needs help. And then later, you're trying to figure out how you're going to make everything work. Now, here's where I think we have to be honest with ourselves. Sometimes we get frustrated with people for expecting us to always be available. But have we ever stopped to think about whether we've created that expectation? Have we gotten so used to saying yes that people don't even consider the possibility? That we might not even be able to do something. And if that's the case, how do we begin changing that without feeling like we're letting everybody down? I don't think the answer is to stop caring. I think the answer is to start being more intentional about what we agree to carry. Because every problem that comes into your life doesn't automatically become your responsibility to solve. But I want to go deeper than responsibilities. Because sometimes the reason we keep showing up for everybody else has less to do with our schedules and more to do with what's happening inside of us. Have you ever confused being needed with being loved? Because those are not necessarily the same thing. Somebody can need what you provide without knowing how to care for you. They can appreciate your help without understanding your heart. They can depend on your availability. without ever considering what it costs you to be available. And sometimes if we're not careful, we start believing that the more we give, the more valuable we are to somebody. So we keep giving. We keep giving more time, more patience, more understanding, more chances. And then one day we realize we've been so focused on being what somebody else needed. that we haven't asked whether the relationship is meeting any of our needs. Now I don't think every relationship has to be perfectly balanced every single day. There are seasons when one person needs more support than the other. That's life. And there should be some level of mutual care, some level of consideration, some understanding that both people matter. And I think that's where the conversation becomes uncomfortable. Because sometimes We don't want to admit that we're disappointed. We don't want to admit that we've expected more. We don't want to say that we've been giving something we haven't been receiving. And sometimes we tell ourselves, it shouldn't matter because we're doing it out of love. But that love doesn't mean you your needs disappear. And I think there's a difference between giving freely and feeling like you have to keep giving to maintain your place in somebody's life. If you stop being the person who always calls, always checks in, always makes the effort, always fixes things, what would those relationships look like? Not as a test, not to punish anybody, but as an honest question about whether the connection is being carried by both people. And here's something else. Do people really know you or do they mostly know what you can do for them? Because those two things are different. Somebody can know your schedule, know that you're good at it, know that you'll answer the phone, know that you'll help them when they need something, but do they know what you're struggling with? Do they know what you're afraid of? Do they know what you're hoping for? Do they know what keeps you up at night? And just as importantly, have you allowed them to know these things? Because sometimes we don't. Sometimes we're so used to being the strong one that we don't know how to let somebody see us as any other way. What happens when the strong person is hurting too? Because I think sometimes we talk about strength like it's always a good thing. And don't get me wrong, strength is important. I've needed strength to get through different seasons of my life. But sometimes people become so familiar with your strength that they forget you're capable of hurting. They see you getting things done, they see you taking care of business, they see you showing up, and somewhere along the way, being strong becomes what people expect from you. But what happens when you're tired of being strong? What happens when you don't have an answer? When you're disappointed or you're scared? When you don't feel like encouraging anybody because you need somebody to encourage you. Why do we sometimes act like being vulnerable takes away from our strength? Why do we think we have to hold everything together to prove we're okay? I've been through cancer, I've dealt with changes in my health. I've experienced heartbreak and situations that didn't turn out the way I wanted. And through those different seasons, I've still had to live a life. I still had responsibilities. I still had to make decisions. But I think there's an important distinction between being able to function and actually being okay. Because just because I can get out of bed, handle my responsibilities, and make it through another day doesn't tell you everything about what I'm I might be carrying. And I wonder how many people listening have become so good at functioning that they haven't stopped to ask themselves how they're really doing. Not how things look on the outside. Not whether the bills are paid, not whether everybody else is taken care of. How are you? And can you answer that question without immediately talking about somebody else? Because I think sometimes that's what we do. Somebody asks how we're doing, and instead of answering honestly, we say, I'm good. And then we immediately ask them, How are they doing? We move the conversation right along. Maybe we don't want to get into everything. Maybe we're not ready to talk. Maybe we don't even know how to explain what we're feeling, and that's okay. But I think we also have to recognize that people can't always support us in ways they don't know we need. I think healthy relationships involve paying attention to each other, checking in, being present, making an effort, noticing when something seems different. And being willing to listen without immediately trying to fix everything. Because sometimes that's what people need. Not another solution. Not another opinion. Just somebody who can sit with them and listen. And I think that's especially important when we're talking about trauma. Because not everybody is ready to explain what they've experienced. Not everybody wants to tell the whole story. And sometimes the most meaningful thing you can do for somebody is create a space where they don't feel pressured to be okay. And I think we deserve the same kind of space for ourselves. We've gotten so accustomed to expecting men to be strong. We expect men to provide, to protect, to figure things out, to have a plan, to be the person everybody can depend on. But who's checking on them? Who's asking the father who's working every day, trying to keep his family together, whether he's okay? Who's checking on the man who lost his job and is questioning what that means for his identity? What about the man who's going through a divorce, grieving somebody he loved, dealing with trauma, or struggling with something he doesn't know how to explain? And what about the man who has spent his whole life being told to toughen up, stop crying, and handle his business? Where does he get to put down everything he's carrying? Sometimes we tell men we want them to communicate, but are we creating environments where they feel comfortable being vulnerable? When a man says he's tired, do we listen? When he says he's overwhelmed, do we take him seriously? When he admits something hurt him, do we allow him to express that without making him feel weak? Because men experience heartbreak, disappointment, Rejection, grief, and trauma too. But I also want to challenge the man listening. If you spent your whole life believing you have to handle everything alone, what has that belief cost you? How many times have you needed somebody but convinced yourself you were supposed to figure it out? How many conversations have you avoided because you didn't know how to express what you were feeling? And how much of yourself have you put on hold trying to be everything everybody expects you to be, because you deserve more than being valued only for what you provide. You deserve relationships where you can be heard, where you can be honest, where you don't have to have every answer, and where you can be human. Strength shouldn't require silence and responsibility shouldn't require losing yourself. I want you to think about this. When did you last give yourself permission to be a person with needs instead of always being the person everybody needs. We're recognizing that sometimes we become so consumed with the roles we're expected to fulfill that we forget there's a whole person behind those responsibilities. And that person matters too. Trauma doesn't always look the way people expect it to look. Sometimes it's one major event. Sometimes it's a series of experiences that happen over time. Sometimes it's something that happened in childhood. Sometimes it's something that happened in a relationship. Sometimes it's losing somebody you love. Sometimes it's a diagnosis that changes your life. And sometimes you don't recognize how much something affected you until much later. How much of what we call our personality is actually something we learn to do to protect ourselves. Think about it. Maybe you've always described yourself as independent. But was independence something you naturally preferred, or was it something you learned because you couldn't always depend on other people? Maybe you're the person who never asked for help, but is that because you don't need support, or because asking for support has been difficult in the past? It's worth asking where our patterns begin. Because we carry ways. of protecting ourselves long after the circumstances that taught us those behaviors has changed. And sometimes those same habits that helped us through one season can make another season more difficult. Maybe being able to handle everything helped you survive a difficult time. But does that mean you have to keep handling everything by yourself forever? Maybe you've learned how to be the person who never needs anything. But what would it look like To let somebody show up for you. Maybe you've learned how to keep the peace by not saying what bothers you. But what would it look like to express your needs without feeling guilty? And maybe you've learned how to keep going no matter what. But what would it look like to recognize that sometimes stopping is necessary too? I think that's where growth can become uncomfortable. We're questioning patterns that may have been part of our lives for years. And sometimes that means acknowledging things about ourselves that we haven't really wanted to look at. Not to blame ourselves, not to make ourselves feel bad, but to understand why we do some of the things we do. Because I think awareness matters. You can't always change a pattern you haven't recognized. Have I actually healed from certain things or have I just learned how to live around them? Because sometimes time passes and we assume that means we've healed. We're not crying about something every day anymore. We're not talking about it as much. We're going to work. We're taking care of our families. We're laughing again. And all of those things can be good, but they don't necessarily answer whether you've dealt with what happened. And I think healing can be complicated because not everything has a clean ending. Sometimes you never get the apology. Sometimes you never get the explanation. Sometimes a relationship ends without the conversation you thought you would have. Sometimes your body changes and you have to adjust to a reality you didn't choose. Sometimes the life you pictured simply doesn't happen the way you imagine. And then what? What do you do with the disappointment? What do you do with the questions? What do you do with the feelings that don't disappear? Just because you've decided to move forward. I think the part of the answer is allowing ourselves to acknowledge them, not pretending they don't exist, not feeling ashamed because something still affects us, and not assuming that moving forward means we have to erase everything we experience. Because maybe healing isn't about becoming somebody who never feels the impact of the past. Maybe it's about learning how to live without allowing the pain to make every decision for you. Sometimes we want to rush ourselves through healing because we're uncomfortable with where we are. We want to be past it. We want to be over it. We want to feel like ourselves again. But what if part of the process is accepting that we may not return to exactly who we were before? What if the goal is not to go backward? What if the goal is to understand who we're becoming now? Whether you're dealing with grief, heartbreak, illness, a career change, or a major transition, sometimes the hardest part isn't just accepting what happened. It's figuring out who you are afterward. And I think we need to give ourselves permission to take the process seriously. Because just because everybody else has moved on from what happened, Doesn't necessarily mean you finish processing it. And just because somebody else thinks you should be over something doesn't mean they get to determine what your healing looks like. Because sometimes we can become so focused on maintaining a relationship that we don't stop to ask whether the ra relationship is healthy for us. And I think that's a difficult conversation because we love people. We have history with people. We remember the good times, we know what they've been through, and sometimes we make allowances for things because we understand their circumstances. But here's the question. At what point does understanding someone else's pain become an excuse for ignoring your own? Because I can understand why somebody behaves a certain way and still recognize that their behavior affects me. I can have compassion for what somebody has experienced and still have boundaries. I can love somebody and still acknowledge that the relationship isn't giving me what I need. And I think sometimes that's where we struggle, because we don't want to give up on people. We don't wanna be unfair. We don't wanna be the person who walks away when somebody is going through something. But what happens when staying connected to somebody requires you to constantly Put your feelings aside. Sometimes we fall in love with the potential. Sometimes we hold on to what a relationship was. And sometimes we hold on to what we hoped it would become. And those things can get complicated. I've experienced heartbreak and I know that relationships aren't always as simple as people on the outside make them seem. It's easy for somebody to tell you what they think you should do when they're not the one who has the feelings. But when you've invested your time, your emotions, your trust, and your hopes into something, it can take time to process what happened. You can be a strong woman and still have a tender heart. You can be an independent man and still want somebody to love and support you. You can have faith and still experience disappointment. And you can know your worth without pretending that losing something you cared about didn't hurt. How much of ourselves are we willing to put on hold while waiting for somebody else to figure out what they want? Sometimes our lives can become centered around what somebody else decides. Whether they stay, whether they leave, whether they come back, whether they change, whether they finally recognize what we bring to the relationship. And while we're waiting for those answers, what happens to us? Are we still pursuing our goals? Are we still enjoying our lives? Are we still growing? Or have we put ourselves in a holding pattern? And I think that's where we have to remember that loving somebody doesn't mean our lives have to stop moving. We can care about people without making their decisions the center of our existence. And that's not always easy, but I think it's necessary. Sometimes we spend so much time trying to understand why somebody did something. That we forget to ask what it did to us. We're analyzing their behaviors. We're thinking about their past. We're considering what they might be feeling. We're trying to make sense of their decisions. But when do we stop and ask? What did that experience do to me? What did it change about how I see myself? Did it make me question my worth? Did it make me more guarded? Did it make me afraid to trust? Did I start accepting things I wouldn't have accepted before because I was trying to be understanding? And I think those questions matter. Because sometimes the deepest impact of a painful experience isn't just what somebody else did. It's what we start believing about ourselves afterwards. And if we never examine those beliefs, we can carry them into the next relationship, the next opportunity, and the next chapter of our lives. I think people sometimes feel pressure to hide the desire to be loved. Because we talk so much about independence. We talk about being strong. We talk about knowing our worth. And all of those things matter. But I don't think being independent means you stop wanting companionship. I don't think being strong means you stop wanting tenderness. And I don't think knowing your worth means you're never going to experience heartbreak. Relationships involve more than just the person standing in front of you. Sometimes they involve the future you imagine, the conversations you had, the plans you hoped would happen, the version of life you thought you might build together. And when things don't work out, sometimes you're grieving more than the relationship itself. You're also having to make peace with the future you thought you were moving towards. And that's not always something you can explain in a quick conversation. Because people might see a situation from the outside and think the answer is simple, but emotions aren't always simple. You can understand that something has changed and still have feelings about it. You can decide not to reach out to somebody and still care about them. You can be moving forward with your life and still have moments when you think about what could have been. And I don't think we need to shame ourselves for having feelings. But how do we make sure that we're s we're processing what happened in relationships? We're not putting our entire lives on hold. How do we continue pursuing our goals? How do we make room for joy? How do we remain open to what God has for us without allowing uncertainty about another person to consume every part of our lives? But I do believe our lives deserve our attention, even while we're working through difficult emotions. Sometimes people see that you survive something and they assume the hardest part is over. And I understand why people might think that. But surviving and experience and living with what comes after are two different things. There can be physical changes, emotional changes, changes in how you approach everyday activities, changes in what you're able to do. And sometimes you're learning how to navigate a version of life that looks different from what you expected. And I think we need to have more conversations about the afterward, not just the diagnosis, not just the treatment, not just the moment somebody tells you that you've made it through, but what happens after that? How do you adjust? How do you rebuild? How do you make peace with changes you didn't choose? And how do you continue living a meaningful life while acknowledging that some things are different? Because I don't want my story to be defined only by what happened to me. But I also don't want to pretend those experiences aren't part of my story. They are. And I think part of moving forward is learning how to acknowledge what you've experienced without allowing it to become the only thing you see when you look at yourself. Now let's talk about guilt. Because I think guilt has a way of showing up when you start trying to do things differently. Especially if people are accustomed to us always being available. Why is it that we can encourage everybody else to take care of themselves? But when it's our turn, we feel like we're doing something wrong. We'll tell somebody else to rest, we'll tell them to set boundaries, we'll tell them they deserve to be happy. But then we'll turn around and ignore the same advice. And I think part of the problem is that we've gotten used to measuring our value by what we accomplish and what we do for other people. If we're being productive, we feel good. If we're helping somebody, we feel useful. But if we're sitting still, relaxing, or doing something simply because we enjoy it, sometimes we start thinking about everything else we could be doing. When did taking care of ourselves become something we feel like we have to earn? When do we feel like we have to finish everything before we deserve a break? Why do we feel like saying no requires a detailed explanation? Why do we sometimes feel guilty for wanting time to belong to us? And I think those questions matter because the way we answer them affects how we live. If I believe everybody else needs automatically come before mine, then I'm gonna keep making decisions that reflect that belief. If I believe saying no makes me selfish, then I'm going to keep saying yes when I don't have the capacity. And if I believe my dreams can always wait, then I'm going to keep finding reasons to postpone them. But what if we start looking at things differently? What if we recognize that having boundaries doesn't mean we don't care? And what if we understood that rest isn't something we have to justify? What if we accepted that our own goals deserve attention too? Because choosing yourself doesn't mean you have to choose against somebody else. Sometimes it simply means making sure you're included in the decisions you're making about your own life. Because it's easy to say we need boundaries. It's another thing to actually establish them when somebody is disappointed. It's easy to say we need rest. It's another thing to sit down. When there are still things on our to-do list. And it's easy to say we want to pursue our dreams, but it's another thing to make time for them while life is already full. But I think that's where change begins in the decisions we make when we have an opportunity to do something differently. When I think about everything we've talked about today, I think about Matthew 11, 28. Jesus says, Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. And I want to focus on that invitation to rest because sometimes we get so caught up in everything we think about that we forget we are not meant to carry everything by ourselves. And I think there's a difference between being responsible and believing we're responsible for everything. There's also a difference between having faith. And pretending we're never affected by what happens in our lives. I can trust God and still have questions. I can pray and still have difficult days. I can believe God is working in my life and still need time to process disappointment. And I think sometimes we put unnecessary pressure on ourselves to always appear strong because we don't want anybody to think our faith is lacking. But faith doesn't mean we never experience pain. It doesn't mean we never grieve. And it sure doesn't mean we have to pretend we're okay when we're not. Sometimes faith is continuing to trust God while being honest about where you are. Sometimes, especially as people of faith, we can feel pressure to make every difficult experience sound like we've already figured out the lesson. We want to say that what God taught us. We want to explain how everything worked out. We want to have a testimony with a beginning, a middle, and a beautiful ending. But what happens when you're still in the middle? What happens when you're still praying about something? When you're still disappointed, and when you're still waiting for clarity, when you're still trying to understand why certain things happen? I don't believe we have to pretend those questions don't exist. And I don't believe being honest about them means we don't trust God. Sometimes faith is trusting God while admitting that you don't understand everything that's happening. And I think about how easy it is to pray for everybody else. We pray for our children, our parents, our friends, our families, people who are sick, people who are struggling. And there's nothing wrong with that. But how often are we being intentional about bringing our own needs before God? Not just asking him to help us take care of everybody else, but asking for wisdom about our own lives, for healing, clarity, peace, direction. Because we're not just responsible for helping other people navigate their lives. We also have lives that God has entrusted to us. And I want to be intentional about how I live mine. I think about how different seasons require different things from us. There are seasons when we're building and seasons when we're healing, seasons when we're learning, and seasons when we're adjusting, and seasons when we need to be still. But sometimes we're so focused on doing what we've always done that we don't recognize when the season has changed. Maybe something that was necessary in one season isn't necessary in the next. And maybe part of growing is being willing to recognize those changes because I don't want to keep living according to expectations that no longer fit the life God is leading me into. Have we confused being busy with walking in our purpose? Because those aren't necessarily the same thing. We can be doing a lot and still not be giving attention to what matters most. We can have a full schedule and still feel like something is missing. And sometimes we need to slow down long enough to ask God for clarity about what deserves our attention in this season. Not everything that needs to be done is ours to do. Not every opportunity is one we're supposed to take. And not every request requires a yes. I think there's a freedom in recognizing that, because it gives us room to be intentional rather than constantly reacting to whatever comes our way. We've talked about what happens when we put ourselves on hold. But what happens when we start trying to rediscover those parts of ourselves? Where do we begin? And I think the first step is being honest about what we want, not what everybody expects, not what we've always done, not what makes sense to somebody else. What do we want? What kind of life are we trying to build? What makes us feel fulfilled? And what do we still want to accomplish? And what are we willing to change to make room for those things? I think there's something meaningful about giving myself permission to explore different possibilities because I've already lived through several major transitions. I've been a mother, I've served in the military, I'm navigating cancer and other health challenges. I've experienced heartbreak. I've had to adjust when life didn't go according to my plans. And now I'm looking at what comes next. But I don't want to approach this chapter as though my only responsibility is to recover from everything that happened before. I want to live. I want to grow. I want to enjoy things. I want to pursue goals and I want to create meaningful experiences. I want to continue becoming the woman God created to be, not just surviving what happened, but actually living in what's next. Sometimes we become so focused on getting through difficult seasons that we forget to think about what we want life to look like beyond them. We spend so much energy trying to get back to normal. But what if normal has changed? What if the person we were before isn't exactly the person we're becoming now? And what if that's okay? I think sometimes we put pressure on ourselves to return to who we used to be. But maybe the goal isn't to go backward. Maybe the goal is to take what we've learned, acknowledge what we've experienced, and continue moving forward. I think that is what I want this chapter of my life to be about. Being intentional about what I'm building, being honest about what I need, and making room for myself in the process. Sometimes when you've gone through difficult things. People can become so focused on what happened that you forget you're still a whole person. That's a different conversation, what I'm living for. And I think it's an important one. I think sometimes we feel pressure to remain consistent with who we've always been, but growth involves change. And sometimes that means recognizing that the version of yourself who made certain decisions years ago. didn't have the same experiences, information, or understanding you have today. So maybe you don't have to keep making the same decisions. Maybe you don't have to keep accepting the same responsibilities. Maybe you don't have to keep explaining yourself to people who are only familiar with an older version of you. And maybe you can be grateful for who you've been without feeling obligated to remain that person forever. I think that's the part. That makes life transition so interesting. Sometimes the circumstances change first, and then we have to figure out how we're changing in response. And that's not always comfortable, but it can create room for us to ask questions we haven't asked in a long time. Who am I now? What matters to me? What am I no longer willing to put on hold? And what do I want to build from here? So now we get to the question that connects everything we've talked about today. What do we build from here? Because it's one thing to recognize that we've been putting ourselves on hold, but what are we going to do differently? And I don't think the answer has to be some huge dramatic change. Sometimes it starts with something small. Maybe you stop automatically saying yes to every request. Maybe you start checking your own schedule before agreeing to taking on another responsibility. Maybe you finally have a conversation you've been avoiding. Or maybe you simply start asking yourself what you need instead of waiting until you're completely overwhelmed. And I think it's important to remember that change takes practice, especially when you've spent years operating a certain way. You're not necessarily going to establish one boundary and suddenly feel comfortable saying no to everything. You're not going to decide to prioritize yourself one morning and have every habit change overnight. And that's okay. The point isn't perfection. The point is being more intentional. How often do we make decisions based on avoiding somebody's disappointment? And what would change if we started considering our own needs in this decision? Not above everybody else, but alongside them. Because we matter too. I want you to really sit with these questions. First, what part of yourself have you been putting on hold? Is it your dreams, your healing, your happiness, peace, your health, your relationships, something you've wanted to pursue? But kept telling yourself you'll get around to it later. Secondly, are you genuinely okay? Or have you just gotten really good at functioning through difficult things? Because I think there's a difference. And sometimes recognizing that difference is where the work begins. And lastly, what would your life look like if you started showing up for yourself with the same intention? You show up for everybody else? I don't want to spend the rest of my life putting myself on hold. I want to continue being there for people I love. I want to continue serving and making a difference. But I also want to make sure I'm making room for the things that matter to me. Because my life matters too, and so does yours. I'm Amanda Johnson, and this has been episode two of What We Build From Here. Until next time, keep your faith, give yourself grace. And remember, your story is still being written, and what we build from here matters. We've turned some pages. We've weathered the rain. found a little purpose in the middle of the pain. The road keeps changing, but one thing is clear. The story isn't over. There's more to build from here. there's more to build from here. Yeah. And that's where we'll leave it for today. You may not have chosen the chapter you're in. You still have a say in what you build from here. Until next time, keep your faith, give yourself grace, and don't be afraid to turn the page. I'm Amanda Johnson. And this is what we build from here. What we build from Yeah.