For those Hungry for Something a Little Deeper

I didn’t mean to take a two-year blogging sabbatical… but maybe I needed it.

Hey friends – it’s been a hot minute since I sat down and wrote a blog post (not for lack of wanting to, mostly for lack of prioritizing it).

So many of you reached out to me, and continue to reach out to me, after reading my post about my son’s homebirth. It brings me so much joy to see my story impacting people in a meaningful way and encouraging those in similar situations. Seeing the impact, it’s had on those around me, has been truly incredible.

Since the launch of Simply Sourdough in 2023, my life has jumped on a speed ramp and hasn’t slowed down, even slightly. Spending time doing anything nonproductive, or even something that’s just for me, has been difficult for me to prioritize during this season of life – which includes my time with creative writing and this blog.

Recently however, I have had this blog on my heart a lot. Feeling a desire to pick it back up again and share some experiences that have happened over the last few years of my life.

I know everyone and their mom has a podcast now-a-days, but starting one myself has been so heavy on my heart these last few months. I cannot stop thinking about it.

My husband asked me what’s stopping me from starting one.

I told him, “Well, number one. Time. Something will have to give if I want to have enough time to do that. Number two, what if no one listens to it?”

He said, “Well… then do it for you.”

And honestly. He’s right. If even one person is blessed or encouraged by something I share, it would be worth it.

And that one person, might just be me. lol.

Even more so – walking in the calling or path I feel God is leading me towards, is purpose enough – even if I don’t know what fruit it will bring yet. Stepping into something, without really knowing where it will take me, is exactly how Simply Sourdough was created. And that has been one of the biggest blessings in my life, to date.

Sharing the messy, vulnerable, parts of life has always been something I have felt passionately about.

Turning pain, into purpose.

Isn’t that what we are all trying to do, at the end of the day?

A message that I have been hearing a lot lately in my prayer life is:

“Your deepest trials,

are your greatest testimony”  

I think I’m finally ready to take action on that.

Being vulnerable isn’t easy for me. For so much of my life, I have told myself that vulnerability = weakness. If people know my vulnerabilities, they know how to get to me. And in a world, where so many people have ill intent, handing my enemy the key to hurting me, feels illegal almost.

“Showing weakness,

will make people think I’m not strong.

And I need people to think I’m strong

so they don’t take advantage of me.”

This is a message I have told myself, since I was as young as I can remember. And you know what? That’s a lie. Or at least, a partial lie. I’m entering a season of life in which I’m being shown that true authentic strength is directly connected to the amount of vulnerability I can show. If God is giving me these trials, and I am fighting them alone – hiding, refusing to talk about it, acting like it’s not happening – I am taking away his ability to use my trials as testimony for others. And honestly – that is so selfish of me. I’m learning to be more consumed with following Gods direction and guidance, and less consumed with how these things will make me “look” to others.  

In a conversation with my brother and sister-in-law the other day, my brother-in-law said to me:

“Mia – the more vulnerable you are able to be, the stronger it will make you.”

And you know what? He’s right, too! (Don’t tell him that though)

I’m not here on earth for the approval of anyone other than God, and if I’m walking in his purpose, that’s enough for me.  

So, with that said. Here’s something vulnerable. Something real. Something I’m sure more people can relate to than I wish. It’s unfiltered, raw, and messy. But you know what? So is life.

Week after week, I make nourishing food for people and their families. Well… this one is for any of you hungry for something a little deeper.

Powerlessness in Motherhood  

Introduction to motherhood starts with learning how to release control. Birth is the introduction to surrender. Pregnancy teaches you to let go of your plans. And motherhood? It’s the daily practice of releasing control repeatedly.

You don’t get to choose how your body grows. You don’t get to script the timing, the tears, or the way labor unfolds. You don’t get to pause time when it all feels like too much — or not enough.

From the very beginning, God invites us into motherhood not through control, but through trust.

Trust in His timing. Trust in His plan. Trust that even in the mess, the stretching, the surrender… something holy is being formed — in them, and in you.

Motherhood isn’t about mastering it all. It’s about learning to release —and realizing that in the letting go, you are held. Somehow, even rock bottom of the ocean – he can be found with you.

When the Unthinkable Happens: A Story I Never Wanted to Tell

Content warning: This post contains reference to sexual assault involving a child. Please read, and watch, with care. If this is a sensitive or triggering topic for you, consider if or when it feels safe to continue.

I almost didn’t share this. But something in me kept whispering — if telling the truth can help even one person feel less alone, then it’s worth it.

So here it is: A video I recorded from my car, in a moment when the weight of what I’ve been carrying finally overflowed.

When my son was one years old, he was sexually assaulted by an older boy close to us — and it broke something in me that I don’t yet know how to name. As a mother, it’s the kind of trauma that lives in your bones. It changes the way you breathe. The way you see the world. The way you trust.

And, aside from reporting it to CPS, I’ve been silent about it — partly to protect my son, partly because I’ve had no words, and partly because grief this deep feels impossible to explain.

One of our biggest reasons for not sharing this story, was the fear that one day my son would hear it, and he would know what happened. My husband and I thought keeping it secret, was the best way to protect him. We didn’t want him to feel broken or damaged by evil that was done to him at someone else’s hand.

The inconvenient truth is this though: Secrets breed shame. Truth fosters trust. Keeping this event completely hidden forever can unintentionally send a message that what happened is something he should be ashamed of. It can fracture his sense of self if he learns about it later, and feels he was deceived or that something was “too awful” to speak of.

This isn’t a story of his brokenness or victimization – it’s a story of someone else’s wrongdoing, our fierce protection, and the healing journey that goes along with that.

There is zero blame, or shame, that should be placed on him surrounding this. This needs to be a mindset we change when it comes to anyone who's been sexually abused. Period.

While this incident was happening at summer camp, I was texting my husband…

Asking him, am I overreacting? Should I say something? Am I crazy for feeling this way about someone touching him like that? Sending him pictures of the TV screen, with the boy and my son, asking if they made my husband feel the same level of uncomfortableness?

Doubting myself.

Telling myself I need to calm down. It’s not that big of a deal. I don’t want to cause a scene or make anyone uncomfortable.

He responded,

“They might think you’re crazy but it doesn’t matter – he’s our baby. It’s our job to protect him.”

And it’s true. It doesn’t matter if they think I’m crazy. If I am seeing my son in an uncomfortable situation, it’s my job to speak up for him, and help him learn that it’s okay to make others uncomfortable when it comes to setting your boundaries.

This video was taken this week. Two years after the incident, but still very much in the thick of all the emotions. I simply turned on the camera and spoke. I didn’t plan what I’d say. I didn’t clean anything up. I just told the truth as best I could.

Ruffle feathers, it may.

In fact – ruffle feathers, it should.

I talked about trauma — how it freezes you, changes your body, alters your instincts. I talked about the grief of innocence lost. This story isn’t finished. But I’m showing up in this space not because we’re healed, but because I believe in telling the truth while we’re still in the messy middle.

“The broken parts of our stories

are often the ones

that feed people the most.”

And maybe that’s why I’m posting this. Not because I want to — I don’t.

But because I know someone else is carrying something too heavy to name. And maybe they need someone to say: Me too. It’s not your fault. You’re not crazy. You’re not alone. 

I don’t have a lesson. I don’t have answers.
But I do have this: a voice that refuses to go silent in the face of evil.
A heart that still — somehow — believes that redemption is possible.
And a God who, even when I can’t feel Him, I still dare to trust is near.

There may be more to say in time. Maybe a podcast, maybe not. But for now, just this.

This video.
This truth.
This offering.

Thank you for being here.
Thank you for listening.

Blessings,

Mia