02 Apr The Day I Jumped Out of an Airplane – And Into My New Life
It was a foggy morning in Oceanside, California.
The kind of fog that makes everything feel quiet and still, like the world is holding its breath.
My heart was racing—part anticipation, part fear, part “what in the world am I doing?” I stood beside six women from my mentoring group, staring at the tiny plane we were about to board.
And when I say tiny, I’m not talking about a Delta or American Airlines jet. I’m talking about a plane that holds maybe 20 people—20 brave (or crazy) souls who willingly sign up to jump out of a perfectly good airplane.
And that day… I was one of them.
Yep. I went skydiving.
Something I had always said I’d never do. But I did it. And here’s why:
I needed to prove to myself that I could do hard things.
I needed to feel strong again.
I needed to reclaim my courage.
When my feet hit the ground, I felt a jolt of life shoot through my body. I had faced something terrifying and come out stronger. And that moment became a picture of something so much deeper in my life.
Because skydiving?
Wasn’t the real freefall I survived.
The Real Freefall Started January 1st Of That Year
The year didn’t wait for me to ease in—it hit hard from the very first day and just kept unraveling.
But April 1st?
That was the day everything shattered.
It was the kind of heartbreak that knocks the wind out of your lungs.
The kind of pain that leaves you gasping for air and sobbing without sound.
I dropped to my knees in my living room, tears pouring down my face, crying out to God with everything I had:
“Why, God? Why?”
You want to talk about freefalling?
That was it. Not in the sky—but in my soul.
And that kind of fall doesn’t come with a parachute.
The dreams I held, the life I loved, the future I had imagined—it all collapsed. And in its place was just… silence. Darkness. And a deep, hollow ache I couldn’t explain.
But God…
I didn’t know how I was going to make it through.
I couldn’t eat.
I couldn’t sleep.
I felt like I was drowning in pain I didn’t know how to name.
But in the middle of that heartbreak, something quiet began to rise in me.
A whisper. A breath. A glimmer of strength.
Every morning, I began to say:
“I can. I must. I will.”
Not because I believed it fully yet.
But because I had to.
Because staying stuck in the pain wasn’t an option.
Skydiving Wasn’t Just a Thrill—It Was a Declaration
When I jumped out of that plane, I wasn’t just chasing adrenaline.
I was chasing healing.
I was saying to myself—and to the world:
“I will not be defined by my pain.”
“I will not let fear keep me stuck.”
“I will rise.”
And the crazy part?
I meant it.
That single jump marked the beginning of a new journey for me—a journey toward healing, wholeness, purpose, and joy I didn’t know I could ever feel again.
You Can Do Hard Things Too
I don’t know what your freefall looks like.
Maybe it’s a divorce. A betrayal. A diagnosis. A season of unbearable loneliness.
But I do know this:
You’re stronger than you think.
You’re not alone.
And you don’t have to stay stuck in the pain forever.
There is life after heartbreak.
There is purpose after loss.
And there is joy—yes, real joy—waiting on the other side of your healing.
This isn’t the end of your story.
It’s the beginning of your comeback.
Resources
Get your 5 Step Guide to Healing After Divorce with Faith and Confidence here
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