Lessons from My Wilderness

They say, "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me." What they don’t say is what happens the third, fourth, and fifth time when you find yourself circling the same mountain, running back to the very things that broke you, loving people who had no capacity to hold you, and ignoring the red flags waving like sirens in the wind. That, my friend, is the wilderness.

The wilderness is not just a physical place. It’s a season. A stripping. A quieting. It’s the space between what was and what will be. I know this because I’ve lived it, not once, but many times.

Pain Has a Pattern. Pay Attention.

The first time I got burned, I cried. The second time, I questioned. By the third, I started to see the pattern. People don’t change just because you’re good to them. Love doesn't fix what someone refuses to face. And your loyalty won’t earn you a place in someone’s life who hasn’t even made space for themselves.

My wilderness taught me to stop justifying behavior that was clearly beneath me. To stop mistaking breadcrumbs for feasts. The pain wasn’t random; it was repetitive. And once I saw the pattern, I started to see the lesson.

Not Every Detour Is the Devil’s Doing.

Some delays are divine.

In the wilderness, I learned that not all closed doors are rejections. Some are protections. The people who walked away weren’t villains, they were exits. And the things I lost were not punishments; they were pruning. God wasn’t trying to break me. He was trying to build me. It just took the wilderness to understand that.

Silence Speaks. Listen.

The wilderness is quiet. Uncomfortably so.

But in that silence, I heard things I had drowned out with noise. My own voice. My real needs. The whisper of God saying, “This is not the end. This is the beginning.”

I learned that healing doesn’t always scream. Sometimes it just sits with you, in the silence, and waits for you to come home to yourself.

You Teach People How to Treat You.

I used to beg for clarity, closure, commitment. Now? I observe. I let people show me who they are. I no longer stay where I have to explain my worth. The wilderness humbled me, but it also strengthened my standards. I no longer fear walking away. I fear staying where love requires me to shrink.

God Provides Even in the Desert.

In my lowest seasons, God still fed me. With unlikely friendships. With inner peace. With the strength to get up when I thought I’d lost everything.

He sent manna just enough for the day. Not abundance, not always comfort, but always enough.

Sometimes, being fooled is just the beginning of becoming wise.

But here’s the honest truth, I’m still learning. Of course, I still find myself trying to fit in, getting that old familiar urge to be loved, to be chosen, to be liked. Then it hits me, Nice girls finish last. And I wasn’t called to be nice. I was called to be whole.

So I pick myself up again, not bitter, just better. Not harder, just wiser. And I keep walking out of the wilderness and into the woman I was always becoming.