Grateful for My Hometeam

Ashley’s email sat in my inbox like a ticking bomb.

“So, are you in?”

I stared at the words, my stomach twisting. The idea of flying to Florida to spend four days in a house with 13 complete strangers? Hard pass. That was a firm nope in my book. Surely, my husband would back me up on this.

As I paced back and forth, phone in hand, I fired off a text. It might be good for networking, might even help build better practices for my business, I reasoned. But also, let’s be real—I hate peopling.

Because here’s the thing: I’d lost faith in people.

Giving up my journalist badge had felt like losing a piece of my identity, and with it, I’d lost what I thought was my community. People I had called friends—people who had been in my corner—suddenly disappeared when I no longer had the title. I wasn’t useful to them anymore, and their absence left me wary, and guarded.

Despite years as a journalist and serving as the executive director of the chamber of commerce—where networking was part of my actual job—I loathed small talk. The endless chatter about the weather, obligatory questions about my kids, and the inevitable, “So, what do you do?” made my skin crawl. Surface-level conversations exhausted me.

So why, exactly, would I voluntarily throw myself into a house full of strangers?

I wasn’t expecting Chris to text back so quickly.

“I’ll book your flights tonight.”

Wait, what?

Later that evening, as he clicked away on his laptop, my 16-year-old daughter casually looked up from her phone and added her own unsolicited commentary.

“You need to go. You don’t have a social life and, like, no friends. And no—your best friend Liz doesn’t count. That’s like, one friend, Mom.”

Well. Alrighty then.

And that’s how I found myself boarding a plane to Florida, second-guessing my life choices and silently rehearsing excuses to back out last-minute. I probably drove Ashley, Alli Worthington’s assistant, crazy with my endless what-ifs and contingency questions. I’m sure she regretted inviting me at least a dozen times.

But here’s what I didn’t see coming.

The Unexpected Gift of Finding Your Home Team
Almost a year later, that same group of women—those 13 strangers I was so hesitant to meet? They are my people. My home team.

These are the women who keep me accountable to my goals, my dreams, and the calling God has placed on my life. These are the women I can talk shop with—who get the world of writing, business-building, and balancing it all with motherhood.

They have prayed for me through my husband’s sobriety journey. They have covered me in love and encouragement through surgery after surgery, through hard days and holy ones.

They are the ones I can show up to online, in my pajamas, with no makeup and messy hair, and feel completely seen and safe.

They are the ones I can show up to online, in my pajamas, with no makeup and messy hair, and feel completely seen and safe. (Heather Riggleman quote on friendship for Begin Within: A Gratitude Series)
I never expected to find a community like this. But I’ve learned something invaluable along the way: We all need a home team.

Even if we have to go out of our way to build it.

Why You Need to Find Your People
God never designed us to do life alone.

We know friendship is vital. We know we are wired for connection, created to live in relationship with one another. But here’s the part we sometimes forget: Community doesn’t just happen. It takes intentionality.

We have to be willing to put in the time and effort to find our people—to invest in relationships that aren’t just convenient, but deeply meaningful.

Because when life hits hard—and it will—you need a circle that will rally around you, pray for you, fight for you, and remind you who you are when you forget.

How to Build Your Home Team
So maybe you’re reading this and thinking, That’s great for you, but I don’t have that kind of community.

I get it.

I spent years convincing myself that I didn’t need close friendships—that I was just too busy, too introverted, or too burned out to put in the effort. And honestly? It felt safer that way.

I spent years convincing myself that I didn’t need close friendships—that I was just too busy, too introverted, or too burned out to put in the effort.
Because building meaningful friendships requires vulnerability. It means risking rejection. It means opening your heart to people who may not always show up the way you hoped.

But here’s the truth: The right people are worth the risk.

You don’t have to keep carrying it all, love. You don’t have to tuck it away, pressing it down deep, pretending the weight isn’t pulling on the sinews of your soul.

Because when you let someone in—when you let your heart crack open just a little, just enough to whisper the thing you were willing to keep hidden—you don’t just share the weight, you let someone else help you see. They stand beside you, their presence painting a different version of the landscape, their love turning the sharp edges into something softer, more whole.

And maybe this is the gift: we were never meant to carry the heavy things alone. We were meant to sit knee to knee, heart to heart, hands open—sorting through what can stay, what must be let go, what needs to be lifted into the light and surrendered to the mending mercy of God.

So go ahead—let a friend help you with the heavy lifting. Let them gather up what feels like too much. Let them help you hold it up to the light, up to Love. Always, always up to Love.