Sunday Doesn’t Come Without Friday
Sometimes people come to me for relationship advice.
Me.
A 41-year-old, single, divorced woman.
One who was cheated on recently and would have stayed if I wasn’t forced into leaving.
They choose me to give advice.
The person who doesn’t even enjoy giving advice.
Wild.
And yet…it’s an honor to be asked.
Especially when all evidence would suggest I’m not exactly successful at the relationship thing.
So when someone asks, I try to oblige.
But here’s what I’ve learned—
Relationship advice doesn’t work the way we want it to.
Because when it comes to love, no one can tell you what to do.
All the advice in the world won’t move you any faster toward a decision.
When you’re not done, you’re not done.
And when you are…you are.
Advice doesn’t change timing.
And most of the time, what we’re actually doing when we give advice…
is asking someone to choose pain before they’re ready to accept it.
I know this because I lived it.
I started this blog to talk about healing from heartbreak.
But the truth is—if I hadn’t been forced out of that relationship, I would probably still be in it.
Miserable.
And staying.
So when a friend came to me in a situation similar to mine, I told her the truth.
I can tell her all day that she should leave.
That she deserves more.
That this isn’t what love is.
That she will find peace on the other side.
But I also have to tell her what I would actually be asking her to choose.
I would be asking her to choose months of pain.
To choose crying more than she thought possible.
To choose feeling lost.
To lose not just the relationship, but the people connected to it.
To lose routines her body has grown used to.
To sit in silence where there used to be noise.
To feel anxious.
To question herself.
To wonder if she made the biggest mistake of her life.
To not sleep.
To replay everything.
To grieve something that is still technically alive.
And if I’m being honest—
if I had been given the choice…
I never would have chosen it.
I am glad it happened.
I am proud of who I’ve become.
I would never go back now.
But I never would have chosen it.
“The devil you know is better than the one you don’t.”
It is so hard to watch someone stay in something you’ve gotten out of.
To want something different for them.
To see what they can’t see yet.
But it took me a year to look back and say,
“Thank you, God.”
Thank you for that desert.
Thank you for the thorn.
Thank you for Friday.
Because Friday is good…
only because Sunday is coming.
Sunday may not be two days away.
It may be years away.
Last year was my Friday.
This year feels like my Sunday.
And I could have another Friday tomorrow.
Because that’s life.
But what I’ve come to understand is this—
what people want…is Sunday without Friday.
They want the peace without the pain.
The clarity without the breaking.
The new life without the death of the old one.
They are standing in Thursday.
In the garden.
Begging for another way.
Because Thursday still has a little hope left in it.
And hope, even when it’s fading, feels safer than what Friday requires.
Even Jesus asked for another way.
“If there is any other way…”
Because He knew what Friday would cost.
And no one would choose that willingly.
So when my friends come to me asking what they should do—
what they’re really asking is:
How do I get to Sunday…
without going through Friday?
And I don’t have an answer for that.
Because Sunday only comes by going through Friday.
Now—Friday doesn’t always look like a breakup.
But it is always movement.
It’s the moment something shifts.
The moment truth gets faced.
The moment things begin to change.
Thursday is painful.
But Friday is the turning point.
And turning points…
are almost always painful.
The same way transformation is.
Thank God He didn’t let Jesus skip Friday.
Because Friday was the day everything changed.
You just don’t always know it…until Sunday.
So I will never tell you to willingly walk into Friday.
But I can sit with you if you find yourself there.
And I can remind you—
you don’t have to walk through it alone.
Keep Reading:
Love is Never Wasted — Even when it doesn’t end the way you hoped
Private — On sharing deeply while still holding parts of yourself back
