Through the Waters

Lisa Ingrassia, writer, wife, and devoted puppy lover

 Inhale.

Exhale.

Focus.

Breathe.

I repeat this to myself over and over. It’s not working. I’m fading. I can’t do this.

I feel hopeless.

I feel worthless.

I feel like I am drowning, and there is no life vest, no lighthouse to guide me to shore.

The Morning Everything Changed

After two decades at my job, I was fired on an ordinary October morning. The sun was glistening off the ocean; the resident cardinal was perched in her tree outside my kitchen window, watching me prepare my coffee for another ordinary day.

I remember admiring what a glorious October morning it was. My husband and I just planned an extravagant vacation to celebrate my birthday. I was turning fifty in two short months, and for the first time in a long time, I was at peace with that. I was proud of myself, proud of the work I had done both professionally and personally. Just two years prior, after a long, grueling winter of being constantly sick, I was diagnosed with lupus. The body I relied on, that carried me through decades of work, turned against me. It was a cruel, quiet betrayal. And now, the job that I wrapped my identity around so tightly also betrayed me.

I felt the weight of it all pressing down on me.

When Work Becomes Identity

For almost two decades, I showed up. I was fiercely loyal. My job didn’t just pay the bills; it shaped my days, my rhythm, my sense of worth. It told me when to wake up, when to eat, where to go. Countless times, I would pack a suitcase and leave my family for days, all for my job. I put off major life milestones for my job simply because the timing wasn’t right. I didn’t realize how deeply it had wrapped itself around my identity until it was gone.

The silence was deafening. The structure I relied on vanished. My purpose was never entirely mine; it was borrowed from a job and a title. And now in its absence, I am left unmoored, untethered, and battling a body that betrays me and a world that has stopped acknowledging my worth.

I was fired in a seven-minute phone call. No managers on the call, just fired by two people who didn’t even know me. Two people checking something off their to-do list for the day. Two decades at a job, and it all ended in seven minutes. Two decades of loyalty. Two decades of showing up. All gone in seven minutes.  

Fear, Shame, and the Spiral

When you’re young and you lose your job, it feels like a sabbatical. A pause. A reset. But when you’re almost fifty and living with lupus, it is terrifying. You’re terrified of the financial aspect. How quickly the money can disappear. The fear is screaming at you in the middle of the night at 3 AM. You’re terrified of your body, of what it will do without warning, without mercy. You tell yourself you are a loser. You’re embarrassed to tell people that after two decades of showing up and loyalty, you were thrown away like yesterday’s trash.

You replay it over and over, desperately searching for what went wrong.  You wonder what your husband is really thinking. Is he still proud of you? You wonder what your friends say when your name comes up. Do they think you are a loser? Replaceable? Worthless?

Your self-worth fractures under the weight of it all. After two decades, the job was more than work; it was proof that you mattered. And now, without it, you feel exposed. Unchosen, Disposable. Worthless.

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God’s Quiet Reminder

But then God breathes life into your situation and reminds you that you are a survivor. And He reminds you that you have survived worse. Not loudly. Quietly. Deliberately. Persistently. He keeps whispering until you are ready to hear HIM. And when you are ready to listen, He reminds you that you are not finished. He reminds you that you are a survivor. He reminds you that you have lived through worse than this. Things that should have broken you. Things that didn’t.

He leads you to your father’s bible. Your father’s worn, tattered, and loved Bible.

My father’s prayers marked with his handwriting, his highlights. And there it is, evidence of faith that outlived my sweet father, tucked away, patiently waiting for me. A beautiful reminder that I will never be abandoned, even when it feels like everything else was taken.

And in that moment, I realize: Jesus didn’t take the wheel. He’s been driving all along.

 “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through rivers, they shall not overwhelm you.” Isaiah 43:2

Have you ever tied your worth to something that didn’t last? What helped you find your footing again? Comment below.

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Lisa Ingrassia is a writer who has shared her voice as a HuffPost Blogger, a Beliefnet columnist, a monthly contributor for Family Christian, and through articles for Her View from Home, The Mighty, and Thrive Global. Visit Lisa's Facebook page, A Daughter's Love. When she's not writing, she's being a devoted wife or is completely wrapped around the paw of her mischievous puppy, Nitro.