The Weight of It All

​In this journey of healing out loud, I have to acknowledge the chapters that were defined by a different kind of silence. For years, I lived in the shadow of a prolonged, active goodbye. Working through the constant fear and stress of watching DT decline was a marathon of the soul that left me emotionally unstable.

​During those years, my nervous system was permanently set to "alert." Every phone call, every change in breathing, and every hospital stay added a layer of invisible weight. I was navigating the paradox of trying to be present and productive simultaneously grieving someone who was still right in front of me. The stress wasn’t just about the ending; it was about the agonizing, slow process of watching him decline.

​I’ve realized that much of my current commitment to being free-spirited stems from how much I had to "hold it together" back then. I spent so much time managing the logistics of a long-term crisis that I didn't always have the space to stop and feel.

​Now, I choose to speak up because I know what happens when you bury that stress. I worked through that paralyzing fear by finally admitting, "This is hard, and I am not okay." By putting those years of anticipatory grief into words, I am finally allowing the woman who carried all that stress to exhale. I’m learning that I don't have to be the "strong one" anymore—I just have to be me.