Deborah Edgar

I used to think my life was a series of broken chapters - stories that didn’t connect, losses that didn’t make sense, wounds that never quite closed. I thought I was just surviving one thing after another. But standing here now, I see it differently. I wasn’t breaking. I was becoming . Every grief, every unraveling, every moment I thought I was lost was quietly shaping the woman I am today. This is not the story of what happened to me. This is the story of who I chose to beco

We don’t talk enough about identity loss. The darkest part of grief, loss, loneliness. The moment when life quietly - or violently - strips you of who you thought you were. Whether we feel a sense of identity loss from the death of a loved one, a relationship ending, a job loss, or a host of other losses, the sense of losing ourselves and having to reinvent ourselves is an added layer of grief on top of grief. And it's real! I’ve had three of those moments in my life. And eac

As we lean into a new year, I keep hearing people talk about getting it right . The right plan. The right timing. The right version of themselves that will magically appear on January 1st. Spoiler alert: that version does not exist. And if it does, she’s probably exhausted and a little annoying. Here’s what I know for sure: nothing is resolute. Life is fluid. Circumstances change. Energy changes. Motivation comes and goes. Some days feel inspired and expansive. Other days… we

There’s a quiet week that lives between Christmas and New Year's day. .A strange, suspended stretch of time where the calendar technically moves forward, but no one is quite sure what day it is. Tuesday might be Friday. Friday might be Sunday. Is there such a thing as December 47th? Emails can wait. Showers are optional. Seriously, they are! It’s the in between . The decorations are still up, but the adrenaline is gone. The leftovers are still around, but we’re starting to ey

This past year has been one of the most transformative seasons of my life - one marked by deep change, layers of grief, unexpected reckonings, and quiet but steady rebuilding. It’s astonishing how much can shift in twelve months. And how much a heart can hold at once. I moved from the home I cherished for over twenty years, my safe place, the backdrop of so many memories, to return to my childhood neighborhood, which has been a mixed blessing. I let go of the properties that

Yesterday, I attended the funeral of a two-year-old child. I sobbed in unison with others through the entire service. I cried for him, for his young parents, so heartbroken, yet exhibiting a deeper faith than I have ever witnessed. Their strength was not loud or polished; it was raw, trembling, and holy. I cried for his family, for his baby sister, and for my dear friends, his grandparents, whose grief is deeper than words can ever express. It humbled me. A band played progre

Life has a tender way of humbling us. Some seasons arrive bright and effortless, filled with joy, connection, and those small delights that make the world feel gentle. Others come with shadows — the kind that invite us to pause, breathe, and gather ourselves before taking the next step. We all know those stretches: the unexpected challenges, the uncertainties, the moments that shake our confidence and leave us wondering how to move forward with grace. Recently, I’ve found mys

This past weekend, I was on top of the world. I attended a women’s coaching conference in Knoxville, surrounded by hundreds of brilliant, passionate women, each of us determined to lift ourselves and each other higher. The air was alive with laughter, sisterhood, and the rhythmic shuffle of heels on the dance floor as we celebrated our resilience to Boot Scootin' Boogie and the Electric Slide. It was an unforgettable time; soul-nourishing and inspiring. The truth is, I could

There’s something about the first signs of winter that hits me differently. The air shifts, the light dulls, and I feel the familiar ache that dreary weather brings. I've always dreaded it - the slow slide into shorter days and longer nights. The sky turns gray, and the air feels heavier somehow, as though even the world is tired. Ever since Jon died, winter has carried a deeper stillness, one that mirrors the quiet inside me. On Sunday, as I brought my plants in for winterin

While going through my second divorce, I had been referred to Dr. Roberta Damon through a divorce recovery workshop at First Baptist Church, the largest in Richmond, located on a sprawling block of historic Monument Avenue. Her office was located across the street in an aged but stately two-story house that had been donated to the church. As I made my way up the brick steps for our first appointment, my hands were shaking, my heart racing, and a pit was forming deep in my bel