A Life Seen Through a Lens of Gratitude🎥

This blog post, like my life is truly about perspective. It's my story, that I am choosing to share, simply to show that we all have the ability to see our stories differently.

I’ve touched on this in my “About Me,” and I’ve always thought about going deeper. Now feels like the right time to make that choice — to open up, to tell my story the way I see it, and to let the rest of you decide what you take from it.

Because I could look at my life and see broken pieces.

I could tell you,

“I wasn’t raised by my mom.”

“My dad wasn’t in my life.”

I could look at my mom not raising me as a negative and let it define me. I could look at my dad not being a part of my life as pure abandonment.

And honestly, that is probably how stories like mine are expected to be told.

But that’s not how I see it.

Being born to a young, single mother, with a dad who wasn’t present in my life — the odds might have seemed stacked against me from the beginning.

When I was six years old, my mom was working in retail and had to relocate. My grandma believed the best thing for me at the time was to stay somewhere stable while my mom got our life settled in the new location.

After many conversations, it was decided that I would move in with my grandma’s sister — my mom’s aunt — my great aunt Kim, her husband Dale (aka Uncle), and their youngest son, Adam.

I don’t remember every detail from that time, but I do remember this — I already felt close to them. My family has always been tight-knit, so this didn’t feel like strangers… it felt like family.

I had my own Bratz-themed bedroom. Life became more structured than it had been before. It was fuller, busier. Adam was in high school, and Kim was always making sure we were involved in something — school events, activities, church.

We sat down for dinner together.

We had a home with both a mother and father figure present.

We had routines — bath time, bedtime, consistency.

And even though my story could be told in a way that sounds like something was missing…

What I actually experienced was something being given.

Before I go any further, I don’t want to sugarcoat it.

It was hard.

And at times, it was confusing.

I didn’t ask my mom for permission for sleepovers or help with homework. There were moments where I felt the difference — where I knew my situation didn’t look like everyone else’s.

And like any family, there were tough moments. Kim and Uncle were my parents in that season, which meant discipline, rules, and structure. At times, that felt heavy — but looking back, it was simply love in its truest form.

I remember one moment so clearly. I was in junior high and had gotten in trouble with my Aunt Kim. We ended up having a deeper conversation about me being raised by them instead of my mom.

And I will never forget what she said to me.

“Syd, I don’t doubt that it’s a weird feeling not having your mom raise you. But your uncle and I love you so much. And I want you to realize something — your mom is your best friend. She will always be your biggest cheerleader. Not everyone has that person in their corner.”

And for me, that was an aha moment.

Because she was right.

My mom and I talked nearly every day growing up — and we still do. We can get on the phone and talk about nothing… and somehow everything at the same time.

I never felt like I had to hide things from her. I never worried about what she was thinking. She wasn’t the one handing out punishments or scolding me — instead, she showed up with encouragement, always wanting me to do better, always believing in me.

And in a way, I got something really special —

a mom who was my safe place,

and parents who raised me with structure and love.

Kim has always given me the best guidance I could ask for — always pushing me to be my best, while still accepting me at my worst. Her love has never wavered.

Truthfully, it feels like I have two moms who both have my best interest at heart.

And my uncle… he stepped into a role he didn’t have to, and became the best dad I could have ever been given. I often think that if I hadn’t had him as a role model, I might have settled in my search for a husband.

He showed me what patience looks like.

What kindness looks like.

What love and humility look like.

He treated me like his own — his little girl. Teaching me everything from hobbies, to driving, to showing up for people and working hard.

And one of the most meaningful parts of all of this?

Kim and Uncle never once tried to replace my mom.

They never spoke poorly about her.

They never made me feel like I had to choose.

Even now, to this day, this situation has remained rooted in respect, love, and understanding.

I want to pause here and say something important:

I could have chosen anger.

I could have been upset with my mom.

With my grandma.

With Kim and Uncle.

Or even with my dad.

But instead… I feel thankful.

Thankful for the way God worked through every part of my story.

Kim and Dale’s oldest son, Tony, has said to me before,

“Syd, statistically you shouldn’t be as successful as you are for the life you could have had.”

***Key word = could have had***

And every time I hear that, I think the same thing:

I am one of the lucky ones.

Not because my story was easy — but because it was filled with people who chose love.

I don’t feel bitterness.

I don’t feel anger.

I feel honored.

And I know part of that comes from a choice — the choice to see my story through a lens of gratitude instead of hurt.

Because the truth is, there was no malicious intent behind any part of this.

This is a story of

love that stepped in,

guidance that stayed consistent,

and people who chose what was best — even when it wasn’t easy.

And this is where perspective comes in.

Because the same story — my story — could be told in two completely different ways.

It could be told from a place of loss.

Of what was missing.

Of what didn’t look “normal.”

Or it can be told the way I choose to tell it —

as a story of love, of people stepping in, of guidance, of faith, and of everything that was given to me instead.

And that’s the part I want people to understand.

I am not here to judge anyone’s situation.

Not my mom’s.

Not my dad’s.

Not my family’s decisions.

Because the truth is, every family has a story. Every situation has layers we don’t fully see. And not everything that looks broken from the outside… actually is.

Sometimes, it’s just different.

And different doesn’t mean less.

Sometimes, it means exactly what was needed.

Life is full of twists and turns we don’t always understand in the moment.

But I truly believe we are given a choice in how we carry our story.

We can hold onto what went wrong…

or we can choose to see what was built in its place.

We can sit in bitterness…

or we can lean into gratitude.

We can focus on what was missing…

or recognize everything that showed up for us.

For me, I choose to see the love.

I choose to see the intention.

I choose to see the people who stepped in and shaped me into who I am today.

Because when I look at my life now —

my husband, Austin…

my boys, Hughes and Graham…

this life that I love so deeply…

I can’t help but think:

If my story had gone differently,

I might not be right here.

And that’s something I don’t take lightly.

God’s plans are often bigger than we can see in the moment. Bigger than what we think we want. Bigger than what makes sense at the time.

But looking back, I can see how every twist, every decision, every unexpected turn… led me exactly where I was meant to be.

So if you’re reading this, and you’ve ever looked at your life and thought,

“This isn’t how it was supposed to go…”

I hope you pause for a moment and ask yourself:

What if it didn’t go wrong…

what if it just went differently?

And maybe — just maybe —

there’s something in your story that’s worth seeing in a new light.

🤍