I will be honest in this one, more honest than I usually am.
The truth is, I have always felt more comfortable writing than talking. I am not the type who speaks a lot, so I write instead. It is where I actually find my voice. Years ago I even had my own little blogs going, back before all the TikTok noise and the endless vlogs took over. It has been a while since I sat down and wrote like this, and honestly, it feels a bit like coming home.
Me and life have never really been the closest of friends. Sometimes I wonder if it is just me, or if we are all simply built to struggle here for a while and find our real rest somewhere higher. I am actually writing this after one of those hard mornings, the kind that leaves you drained and a little quiet inside.
Ever since I became a mother, my feelings have lived on a rollercoaster. Some days I am completely fine. Other days I am sitting right at the top of the climb, holding my breath, waiting for that drop where everyone starts screaming. Between being a mom and a wife and carrying everyone's needs, I keep misplacing myself somewhere in the middle. My own needs, even the bare minimum of them, quietly slip to the bottom of the list.
And I think part of it is the times we live in. It is not like before, when the whole family pitched in and the bonds between people were the best part of life. These days it can feel so isolating. Some mornings I just wish someone would lift the load off my back for a moment and say, go, take a vacation, rest, I have got this. Just for a little while.
The hardest years came with my first child. I lost a job I was truly shining in, because my baby needed me more. And ever since, I feel like I have been knocking on doors, trying to stand back up and find my footing again. My kids are never to blame, they are just kids being kids, and yes, on the hard days they can nearly give me a heart attack haha. But here is the strange thing, that same overwhelming commitment I feel towards them is also what keeps me going. It is like working under pressure. They need me, so I show up, again and again, no matter how I feel.
So where do I find the strength? Honestly, in prayer. It is the place I run to when everything feels too heavy. I remind myself, again and again, that all of this is temporary, that the real prize is waiting in the heavens, and somehow that quiets the noise inside me.
Then there are the small, silly resets. My coffee, my chocolate, my music. Little drugs, I call them haha, but they carry me through more than I would like to admit. And when a good song comes on, I dance. Music and dancing have always made me happy, there is a little girl in me who never really stopped moving.
There is one more, a strange little therapy of mine. Cleaning, or really organizing. When I cannot seem to organize my thoughts, you will find me buried inside a closet instead, tidying, sorting, redecorating. Somehow putting a messy shelf back in order helps me feel like I am slowly putting myself back together too.
I still carry the ache of the things I have not achieved, of the person I thought I would be by now. And there is all this pressure on us women to be fashionable, successful, endlessly put together, as if we are meant to be perfect. I like to think it does not affect me, though honestly, I do wonder if it quietly gets to me somewhere underneath, without me even noticing.
Maybe that is what strength really looks like. Not being unbreakable, but getting up one more morning, saying my prayer, sipping the coffee, dancing to one song, tidying a shelf, holding my kids, and writing it all out when the words will not come out loud. And every single time I do, I quietly surprise myself. I am still here. I am still standing. And that has to count for something.
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Cover image generated by me using [Gemini]>
