Fighting

The waves of sadness don't always give you a warning. You can be having a perfectly “good” day and then, out of nowhere, the air in the room just seems to vanish.

​It’s a heavy, suffocating weight that settles right on your chest. In those moments, the world feels incredibly loud and entirely too much to handle. The most honest desire I have in those seconds isn't to "be strong" or "push through." It’s simply to lie down, close my eyes, and quit. I want to resign from the effort of carrying a heart that feels like lead.

​When that darkness rolls in, it’s tempting to let it win. It whispers that the struggle isn't worth the reward and that "moving on" is just a myth we tell ourselves to stay sane.

​I am learning that grief and happiness aren't mutually exclusive. They are awkward roommates. You can be devastated by what you’ve lost and still be determined to find joy in what remains.

​I keep going because I know that the "suffocating" feeling is a season, not a permanent condition. I fight because I deserve to see what’s on the other side of the sadness. Happiness isn't a finish line I’m going to cross one day; it’s a series of small, hard-won moments I have to claim for myself, even when I’m tired.

Today, I am tired.