Mascara, Meltdowns, & Resurrection…

Easter hit different this year.

Not in the soft, pastel, everything-is-beautiful kind of way.

More like… everything looks put together, but underneath it feels like it’s quietly unraveling.

I’m almost four months post back surgery.

I had that moment—you know the one—

where you think, okay, I made it. I’m getting my life back.

And then I didn’t.

One bad physical therapy session.

One thing that was supposed to help me heal… didn’t.

And ever since, it’s felt like I’ve been sliding backwards in slow motion.

Not dramatically. Not in a way people necessarily see.

But internally? It’s been a spiral.

A quiet pity party I didn’t RSVP to—but somehow I’m hosting.

I went back to work.

Week three is coming up.

And I am grateful. I really am.

But desk duty is this weird in-between space where you feel helpful and completely useless at the same time.

Like, look at me contributing… while your brain is also screaming, look at everything you can’t do.

It messes with you.

Physically. Mentally. Emotionally.

And it’s only supposed to be temporary… but after the whole PT situation, I don’t know anymore.

And that unknown? It’s loud.

Today was Easter.

The kids had a good day. That’s what matters, right?

Freezing cold at the egg hunt—

didn’t faze them at all. Of course not.

Kids are built different. Meanwhile I’m questioning every life choice in 40-degree wind.

We got home.

And I did what I always do.

Clean. Laundry. Stay busy. Keep moving.

Because if I stop… I feel it.

And eventually, it caught up to me anyway.

Crying quietly while the kids sort candy and little toys and money like it’s the best day ever…

And I’m in the background trying to pull myself together before the next week starts.

It’s all just… a lot.

And here’s where Easter meets me this year—not in celebration, but in survival.

Because before the resurrection… there was the cross.

Before the miracle… there was pain, waiting, and what looked like complete defeat.

And I think we skip over that part way too fast.

We love the empty tomb.

We don’t love the suffering it took to get there.

But what’s hitting me right now is this:

Even Jesus had a moment where it all felt like too much.

The weight. The pain. The why is this happening like this.

And still… that wasn’t the end of the story.

Resurrection didn’t come when everything felt good.

It came after everything fell apart.

And maybe that’s where I am.

Not at the miracle part yet.

Not at the “everything is restored” part.

But somewhere in between the cross and the empty tomb.

The messy middle.

The waiting.

The healing that doesn’t feel like healing.

And if I’m being honest? I hate it here.

But I’ve been here before.

Different circumstances. Different kind of pain.

Same feeling of I don’t know how I’m getting through this—but I will.

Because I always do.

Because He did.

And maybe my version of resurrection right now isn’t big or dramatic.

Maybe it’s smaller.

Getting up again tomorrow.

Going back to work even when it’s hard.

Letting myself cry and still showing up anyway.

Believing—even just a little—that this setback isn’t the end of me.

That healing didn’t stop. It just got complicated.

That this version of me—tired, emotional, frustrated, still trying—isn’t broken…

She’s becoming.

Easter isn’t just proof that He rose.

It’s a reminder that things that look dead, stuck, or set back…

aren’t done yet.

And neither am I.