By: Julie Reynolds (name has been changed)

Do you have someone in your life—someone you love deeply—who just refuses to accept the possibility of true joy? I do. And I know how heartbreaking that can be.

I’ve always been fascinated by human behavior. In high school, I struggled in most of my classes—except psychology. That was probably the only class I ever got an A in. I loved it. It just clicked for me.

I started journaling at age eleven, and it came very naturally. I’ve kept a consistent journal ever since. Writing has always helped me process my thoughts and feelings. I wanted to understand why I felt the way I did. I wondered if other people felt the same.

Mental and emotional health has always pulled at me, and it’s been a central part of my life’s path. So it’s been especially challenging to be married to a man who was taught that anger was acceptable, but sadness was not. Crying, he learned, was a sign of weakness. It was deeply uncomfortable for him—not just to cry himself, but to see me or our kids cry.

I could see that he was carrying a lot of pain he hadn’t dealt with. I wanted to help. I tried to help. I had advice. Tools. Ideas. But he refused. “I’m fine,” he’d say.

(Anger itself isn’t wrong—but using it as an excuse to be destructive isn’t okay. When we were first married, he’d throw fits and claim he couldn’t control it. But I didn’t buy it. I told him, like I tell our kids: “It’s okay to be mad. It’s not okay to be mean or destructive.”)

For years, I offered support only to be turned away again and again. I can’t count how many journal entries I have that are full of pain—pain I felt for him. I wanted so badly to see him experience real joy. It caused friction sometimes, because I’d get so frustrated. I’d accuse him of being impossibly stubborn.

Eventually, I learned one of the most important lessons of all: to let go. It wasn’t my responsibility to heal him. No matter how much I loved him, I couldn’t do that for him. When I finally surrendered that burden, I felt a deep sense of relief. I began to rely more fully on the Savior. I knew He was the only One who could truly heal my husband. I began praying more intentionally for him. And as I did, I started to see him with Christlike eyes.

Letting go wasn’t a one-time event. It was (and still is) a daily choice. I had to hand that burden to the Lord over and over again. Some days I messed up—I’d get angry or yell or try to force a breakthrough. I’d find myself shouting, “Wake up!” out of desperation. And yes, it’s hard being someone who mentors others on emotional health when your own spouse thinks you’re “crazy.”

And yet, it’s also deeply rewarding to help others. I’ve been blessed to hold space for so many people who are ready to open up and receive help—while the person I loved most avoided the very conversations I longed to have.

To his credit, my husband always expressed love to me. He’s been consistently supportive of my dreams and goals. He knows how passionate I am about my work—and he’s happy for me. But for a long time, he wasn’t interested in hearing any details. That was hard too. I wanted to share everything with him. I wanted him to feel what I felt.

But I had to learn patience. I had to recognize he just wasn’t ready. I couldn’t force his healing. I had to wait. And waiting? That’s not my strong suit. So I used the waiting season to keep preparing myself—for the day he would ask. Not ask me, but ask God.

He always said he believed in God, but he didn’t communicate with Him. “We have an understanding,” he’d joke. But I could feel it—he was keeping God’s love at a distance. So I prayed every day for angels to surround him. I love angels. I know they understood what I was feeling. I’m also sure they handled it a whole lot better than I did.

I didn’t know when things would shift—but I knew they would. I just knew it. I had faith. I imagined how it would feel. I dreamed about the life we’d have. I prayed and visualized. And sometimes, the imagining made me even more frustrated, because it made the present feel harder. That was another lesson: surrendering even that.

Eventually, after several years, my husband turned to God. On his own. (With a little help from those angels.) And when I look back through those journal entries, I realize something powerful: that time wasn’t just for him. It was for me, too. Maybe he was waiting on me the whole time. Maybe I wasn’t ready to receive the goodness I’d been praying for.

I dreamed of healing for him, but I couldn’t have imagined the blessings God had in store for us. Every day, I’m in awe of the life we now live together. Every day, I feel grateful for my incredible husband—who endured years of struggle so that I could learn the lessons I needed.

All those years, I thought I had the tools and knowledge to help him. But in truth? His “stubbornness” was the very thing that helped me grow.

So if you’re walking a similar road, here’s what I want to say:
Ask yourself what you need to learn from this.
What are you discovering?
What actions are you taking with that awareness?
How are you growing?

And don’t forget to express gratitude for the one you love. Even if they don’t realize it, they might be helping you more than you know. Call on God’s angels to support them. And most of all—have faith. 💛

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