Last week was my birthday.

Leading up to it, I didn’t really want to celebrate. I wasn’t sure if I would be emotionally stable enough to “keep the tears hidden” on that specific day. It’s my first birthday without my dad, who passed away last year. And with December approaching—bringing his birthday with it—the emotions feel especially close to the surface.

When I talked to my close family about how I was feeling, my little brother completely understood. He had gone through the exact same rollercoaster on his birthday earlier this year and didn’t want to do anything either. Back then, we found a gentle way to distract ourselves: we gave him his presents and played our very first Dungeons & Dragons game together with him as the Dungeon Master. It gave us all a lighthearted escape when we needed it most.

Knowing we could take things at our own pace, I decided to do something simple for mine. Last week, my mom, my brother, my husband, and I went out for dinner at a local Asian place. The food was delicious, the company was warm, and we genuinely had fun.

Outwardly, it was a lovely evening. But holding it together during dinner took energy. I still work so hard not to burden the people around me with the heavy grief I carry inside. I hold it all together… right up until I have a moment alone to all by myself.

That’s when the dam breaks, and I just cry my eyes out.

Running a Christian blog, it’s easy to feel the pressure to always sound hopeful, faithful, and put-together. But if I’m being completely honest, some days—especially around my birthday—that peace feels unimaginably hard to find. I pray, but sometimes those moments just feel heavy, filled with unanswered questions and quiet tears.

For a while, I felt conflicted about this. I wondered if struggling with my faith during grief meant I wasn’t trusting God enough, or if collapsing into tears at home meant I wasn’t being strong. But sitting in the quiet afterward, a gentle realization hit me: joy, grief, and even a wrestling faith can exist in the exact same room.

Enjoying a meal with my family didn’t mean I missed my dad any less. And crying alone in the evening wasn’t a failure of my faith; it was just my heart bringing its broken pieces back to God, even when the words wouldn’t come. God can handle our confusion, our questions, and our rawest tears.

I was listening to the song “Beautiful Life” by Switchfoot this week, and one line hit me so deeply: I don’t have what I want. But I have what I need.” That is exactly what this season feels like. It is bitter because of who is missing, but sweet because of the love that remains.