Theme - I Found Out What God Was Made of When

Bio

Malia is a 33-year-old high school math teacher based in the Charlotte area. She loves finding new ways to make math fun and differentiating instruction to meet the needs of all learners. She is a proud mom to a 100-pound "lap dog" named Sully. When she isn't shaping the minds of the future leaders of America, she enjoys traveling, spending time with family and friends, and watching baseball (Go Red Sox!)

Story

Starting over. Those words didn’t seem daunting—until I had to live them. In February 2023, a month before my 31st birthday, I walked away from my marriage. Standing in my new apartment, staring at the sunset through floor-to-ceiling windows, one question echoed: “What now?”

Growing up in a Christian home, I had a permanent seat in the church pew every Sunday. I was taught that marriage was forever - something you stuck with, no matter how hard it got. It wasn’t just a promise to your spouse; it was a vow before God. Yet, three years in, I was walking away. Betraying everything I’d been taught. Feeling like I’d failed - as a wife and a believer. 

One cold, rainy Sunday, I slipped into the sanctuary of the church my ex and I had attended together, shame weighing heavily. I imagined a scarlet letter on my chest, certain everyone was judging me. Then the pastor stepped to the pulpit: “Today we’re going to be talking about something a lot of you don’t want to hear, but some of you probably need to– divorce.” I began gathering my things, preparing to exit quietly not wanting to hear this. Fearing it would only confirm what I had already convinced myself -  you aren’t good enough. Suddenly, the voice of the Holy Spirit - gentle but firm - whispered in my head: “Stay. Just wait.” So I did. Nervous, unsettled, but curious. The pastor began listing three biblical grounds for divorce: adultery, abuse, and abandonment. My breath caught. I had lived through two of those. At that moment, I felt seen. The shame cracked, just a little. It was liberating. Before closing, he mentioned a support group for divorcees—led by divorcees. Walking out of church that day, I felt like I was floating. I wasn’t the only one. God still loved me. Peace and comfort wrapped around me like a familiar blanket. For a short time, I wasn’t ruminating on the past or crying every day. I was healing. And that felt good.

Healing isn’t linear—it’s messy. Looping back on itself when you least expect it. The guilt faded and morphed into self-doubt. I questioned my worth. Would he have stayed faithful if I’d been a better wife? If I’d recognized his first threat of self-harm for what it truly was - manipulation - could I have stopped the spiral that followed? Was the chaos, the unraveling, my fault? Through prayer and therapy, a softer voice rose above the noise: You did your best. His choices weren’t your fault. You’re not responsible for someone else’s brokenness. I saw how many times I fought for our marriage, swallowed pain to keep the peace, and begged God to fix things. That wasn’t failure—it was strength. Love. Walking away didn’t mean quitting. It meant surviving. I chose to believe that my heart, my safety, and my future mattered too. Healing eventually came, not in a dramatic moment of clarity, but quietly, unevenly. The first time I laughed without guilt (a friend tripping spectacularly in public helped), the first full day I didn’t think of him at all, the mornings I got out of bed when it felt impossible—each was a small victory. Yet a deeper ache lingered: grief for the life I’d imagined. A joyful marriage; children raised in safety and love. I hadn’t just lost a relationship; I’d lost a future I’d prayed for. Relinquishing that dream shattered my heart in a way that was quiet but deep, without closure.

Through the unraveling and rebuilding, God never left me. Even when I doubted Him, He carried me. When loneliness pressed in, grace found me: A friend’s comforting word, a familiar verse that leapt off the page the exact moment I needed it, a steadying breath amid panic. Those weren’t coincidences. They were reminders: “I am here.” Without Him, I wouldn’t have survived the heartbreak or the nights of self-doubt. He carried me when I couldn’t take another step. He still carries me, guiding and reminding me that, though this chapter ended differently than I hoped, the story continues.

I always thought my happiness would come wrapped in a picture-perfect relationship -  husband, home, children, stability. When it all fell apart, I feared I’d never feel whole alone. But God revealed the truth: my worth isn’t tied to a relationship status, and love from another isn’t the ultimate measure of value. He filled my emptiness with peace beyond circumstances, joy without reason, and a quiet confidence that I was already whole in Him. By August 2023, six months post-separation, I felt content - not because life was perfect, but because God alone completed me. In Him, I was enough. I still believe in love, connection, family, and all the good things that come with a relationship and have been blessed to experience them again. The greatest lesson was that happiness doesn’t depend on those things. I found a deeper joy that doesn’t crumble when life doesn’t go according to plan. And that joy - rooted in God, not another person - is something no one can take from me.