Rebuilding in Grace
- Caralyn Dreyer, M.A. in Forensic Psychology
- 4 days ago
- 6 min read
Updated: 2 days ago
Content Notice:
This testimony contains references to sensitive topics, including miscarriage, sexual assault, suicide attempts, addiction, and abuse. Reader discretion is advised.
At Be Inspired For Real, we believe that honest stories of faith can shed light in places where many people feel forced to hide. Guest writer Caralyn Dreyer shares her testimony with courage and vulnerability, trusting that her journey may encourage someone else who is quietly rebuilding their life.
I grew up in the church. Faith was present in my life before I had the language to understand it, long before I knew how much I would rely on it. As an adult, my faith wasn’t shaped by certainty or comfort, but by survival.
There were multiple points in my life where I had to start over entirely emotionally, spiritually, and practically, often without a safety net and with no one to depend on but God.
I have lived through losses and experiences I never imagined I would survive: two miscarriages, a sexual assault, a suicide attempt, nearly dying from alcohol poisoning, abusive relationships, post-separation abuse, and navigating an escape plan while pregnant.
Later in my life, I also decided to divorce, not from the same relationship, but from a marriage that no longer reflected my worth or the values I wanted to model for my child.
These were not impulsive decisions. They were moments of discernment. I understood that what I tolerated would eventually be what my son learned. I did not want him growing up believing that love requires silence, fear, or imbalance.
None of these seasons felt redemptive while I was living them. They felt isolated and disoriented. There were long stretches where rebuilding required quiet endurance rather than visible strength, and where faith looked less like confidence and more like persistence.
A Quiet Presence in the Hardest Season
During the time I lived in an abusive environment while pregnant, before I fully understood the danger I was in, there was a narrow space in the hallway between the living room and the bedroom.
Every time I walked through it, I felt a presence I still struggle to explain. It wasn’t fear. It was steadiness. Protection. I believe it was God and His angels, surrounding me in a place where I did not yet have the strength or resources to leave. That reassurance stayed with me long after I walked away.
Prayer and scripture have been the most tangible ways I have experienced God’s presence. When everything else felt unstable, those were constant. I learned to pray without asking for specific outcomes, trusting instead that God’s will was wiser than my own.
Over time, discernment became clearer. There were moments when clarity arrived suddenly, when doors closed without explanation, or when signs appeared that aligned too closely with my prayers to ignore. I knew what I had asked God for, and I knew when He answered.
When Faith Meets Shame and Grace
For a long time, I carried shame not because of God, but because of people. Some Christians did not know how to hold my story.
I often felt reduced to my trauma or judged for the choices I made in survival. But I came to understand something that anchored me deeply: only God can judge me.
I no longer place people on pedestals, and I do not fear human opinion the way I once did. I have lived on the side of disobedience, and I have lived under the covering of grace.
What I know now is that God’s forgiveness and acceptance are purer and more enduring than anything humans can offer.
At different times, I found myself reflected in scripture. I felt like the woman at the well, who was seen fully yet met with compassion. Other times, I felt like the prodigal child, returning quietly and unsure of my welcome. I also resonated with Job, wondering why obedience did not spare me from suffering.
Scripture did not give me easy answers, but it gave me truth. “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18). That closeness was not abstract to me. It was lived.
One of the most difficult choices I made came years after my sexual assault. I realized I could not move forward while carrying hatred. I chose forgiveness not because what happened was acceptable, but because I refused to let darkness take more from me.
I prayed that the men who harmed me would use my decision not to report as a second chance to live differently and do what was right. That choice did not excuse the harm, but it freed me from being bound to it.
“Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good” (Romans 12:21).
Even in the face of pain and betrayal, I refuse to let bitterness define me. Choosing goodness is not always easy, but it is the path that restores my peace and reclaims my power.
Even after all I have endured, I continue to choose kindness, compassion, and grace. Not because I am unaffected by what I’ve lived through, but because I understand the cost of letting bitterness take root.
Shame and rejection do not protect us; they quietly block healing. I believe there is a spiritual reality to this: when darkness hardens us, it gains ground it was never meant to have. Choosing grace is not weakness. It is resistance.
Waiting, Trusting, and Rebuilding
Faith does not always look like certainty. Sometimes it simply looks like staying.
There were years when I waited longer than I wanted to for prayers to be answered. I learned not to pray for outcomes, but for alignment with God’s will. Waiting has never been easy for me, but it taught me steadiness.
Even when my faith wavered, God did not. “Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning” (Lamentations 3:22–23). Through every season of waiting and uncertainty, His faithfulness remained my anchor. Even when answers seemed delayed, I learned to trust that His timing and love are always perfect.
I have waited literal years for certain blessings. I have lived below the poverty line as a single mother and still witnessed provision arrive in ways I could not explain. It was never extravagant, but it was always enough. Looking back, I see now that God’s timing was not absence, but intention.
This is what I know to be true: sometimes healing takes years, but God always comes through. Not on our schedule, and not according to our understanding, but by His design.
If you are rebuilding quietly, if you feel unseen, if you are waiting longer than feels fair, you are not alone. Faith does not always look like certainty. Sometimes it simply looks like staying.
And sometimes, staying is everything.
Reader Reflection
Stories and testimonies like this remind us that faith is often built in the quiet seasons. The ones where we keep going, even when the path forward is not clear.
Take a moment to reflect:
• Where have you seen God sustain you in difficult seasons?
• What helped you keep going when giving up felt easier?
• How has your faith grown through hardship?
If Caralyn's story encouraged you, consider sharing it with someone who may need the reminder that they are not alone. You are also invited to share your thoughts in the comments. Your story may bring hope to someone else who is quietly rebuilding.
A Note for Readers
If you or someone you love is struggling with thoughts of suicide, abuse, or overwhelming emotional pain, please know you are not alone. Consider reaching out to a trusted pastor, counselor, or someone in your support system. If you are in crisis in the United States, help is available through the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline by calling or texting 988.
Caralyn Dreyer, M.A. in Forensic Psychology, is a trauma survivor, mental health blogger, writer, and podcaster. She shares her experiences and insights to help others navigate mental health recovery, focusing on self-compassion, protecting one's peace, and reclaiming emotional well-being.
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