These past couple of weeks have broken me open. I watched not one, but two innocent people get murdered, and I am not okay. My heart feels crushed under the weight of an evil that seems to be gripping our nation, and I think it’s time I share my heart with you.
Admittedly, until September 2, I was living in a bit of a bubble — travel, vacations, friends, celebrations. We all know that space: quiet, soft, warm. You get lost in life’s little moments and tune out the noise. I spent most of August there, and a part of me wishes I could go back. That softness was the exact opposite of what these last couple of weeks have been.
It began in my kitchen shortly after I got home from my vacation. I was talking to my husband about a horrific video I’d just seen while scrolling social media — a young woman being brutally murdered on public transit while going home. The image is still burned into my mind and my heart aches in a way I can’t fully describe. It haunts me that someone capable of such cruelty could be living among us, watching, lurking, waiting. It’s bone-chilling.
About a week later, on September 10, I woke up in a sad space. A few people close to me that I love were going through some really hard things, and I felt helpless for them. To distract myself from the sadness,, I opened Instagram — and the first thing I saw was that Charlie Kirk had been shot. I texted my sister, read more, and the afternoon grew heavier with news from another friend. Tears welled up and I began to weep — all of this even before I knew the worst.
When I finally looked again, the headline had changed: Charlie had passed away. I wept as if I’d known him personally. The heaviness of my grief was too much. My first thoughts went straight to his wife and their small children. As a mother, imagining his kids watching such violence is unbearable. How can someone be so cruel?
The rest of that day and evening felt somber. I’ve walked through grief before, but usually it’s one hard moment at a time. This felt like carrying sadness for many people all at once — a collective, heavy grief. I scrolled and watched people come together to share memories and stories about his legacy. That outpouring was deeply moving.
But I also witnessed a darker side: a cruelty that shocked me to my core. Watching people celebrate a death horrified me. I could never imagine cheering someone losing their life — especially when it happened in front of their family. Empathy was absent in so many corners of the internet, and that too was terrifying.
In the days since his death, I’ve reflected on what this tragedy means for me going forward. Charlie Kirk believed in sharing his voice respectfully. He wasn’t mean; he challenged people to think critically and, above all, he wanted to share God’s love. He engaged in debate in the way a free country allows. For me, that has been clarifying. This has truly been a turning point for me, a line in the sand moment. I’ve decided from here on, I will boldly walk in my truth: no more quietly sharing my faith. I want people to know where I draw my strength — from God.
But this journey isn’t new for me. I grew up in church and have known Jesus my whole life. There was a season in my early twenties when I strayed, but severe trials pulled me back to the only peace I’d every truly known. Since reaffirming my faith, I’ve been through many hard seasons that brought me to my knees in prayer because nothing else felt right. I find myself there again today as I write this with tears filling my eyes. These past two weeks have crushed my soul — not only because of one incident but because of a load of sorrow piled up all at once. In times like this, my faith is the only thing that grounds me.
I also want to say something important that I’ve been thinking about: our souls are not built to witness this much tragedy and then pretend everything is normal. We are not designed to scroll past gut-wrenching videos and headlines without consequence. These events leave marks on our soul. We must give ourselves permission to feel the heaviness they bring, to hold space for our grief, to let the emotions move through us. It’s okay — even necessary — to step away from the feed, to sit with the pain, to process, to pray, to talk, to cry. Holding space for our own hearts is not weakness; it’s how we heal.
So yes, Charlie Kirk’s death affected me profoundly. His mission — to spread the word of God and his love for patriotism — resonates with things I deeply believe. I no longer feel I can quietly whisper these convictions. I want to speak them boldly and kindly.
To my dear friends who see the world through a different lens: our differences in belief do not make us less worthy of respect or less deserving of love. I have loved you as you are for as long as I’ve known you, and I believe there is room for all of us to hold one another’s humanity. I will always hope for the same in return.
If these last few weeks have left you raw like it’s left me, be gentle with yourself. Turn off the screen if you need to. Call someone. Pray or sit quietly. Give yourself time to grieve and to feel. The world is heavy right now — and we don’t have to carry that weight alone.
