The Weight Of It All
There are days I wonder how I’m still standing. Days where the sheer weight of everything feels impossible to carry, and yet, somehow, I do. Somehow, I wake up, put one foot in front of the other, and keep moving forward, even when I feel like I have nothing left to give.
Not a day goes by without tears. They come in different ways—sometimes in the quiet moments when no one is looking, sometimes in the middle of a conversation when the weight of it all suddenly becomes too much. I cry from exhaustion, from grief, from the never-ending stress. But I also cry because, even in the hardest moments, I see the goodness. The unexpected kindness, the miracles that remind me that life is still full of beauty even when it feels unbearable.
I wish I could say I’ve handled all of this with grace, that I’ve kept my head high and my spirit unshaken, but the truth is, I am exhausted. My heart has been broken in more ways than I knew was possible. The medical bills keep coming. The sleepless nights don’t stop. The fear of what comes next is relentless. There’s no handbook for navigating this kind of storm, no blueprint for how to survive when your world gets flipped upside down.
And yet, people have opinions. Apparently, even the idea of needing a break is selfish. The idea that I could need rest, that I could need a moment to breathe, is somehow offensive. As if standing strong means never admitting you’re tired. As if breaking down for a moment means you’re weak. But I reject that. I reject the idea that suffering in silence is noble, that pretending to be fine is brave. Because the truth is, I am not fine. I am tired. I am hurting. And I am in desperate need of a season where things feel lighter.
But here’s the thing—I believe that season is coming. I have to. I have to believe that one day, the medical bills will be just a memory of a battle I survived. That one day, the PTSD will loosen its grip, and I’ll breathe without fear creeping in. That one day, I’ll wake up and realize I haven’t cried. That I’ll feel peace not as something I have to chase, but as something that simply exists within me. That when the time is right, the love I’ve always known deep down was meant for me will arrive, and I’ll finally understand why everything had to happen the way it did.
For now, I let the tears fall. I let myself feel it all—the grief, the exhaustion, the gratitude, the hope. I find the bright spots, the small moments of joy that remind me why I keep going. And if you’re in this space too, if you’re carrying a weight that feels unbearable, I want you to know that you’re not alone. I see you. I understand. And even if it doesn’t feel like it right now, we are going to get through this. One step, one day, one deep breath at a time.
So how do we cope when life feels this heavy? How do we make it through the days that feel impossible? Here are three things that have helped me hold on, and maybe they can help you too.
Give Yourself Permission to Feel Everything
It’s tempting to shove it all down, to try to stay “strong” by pretending the pain isn’t there. But that only builds pressure until eventually, it explodes. Let yourself feel it. Cry when you need to cry. Scream into a pillow if you have to. Write it all down in a journal that no one will ever see. The more you allow yourself to process your emotions instead of suppressing them, the more room you create for healing.
2. Find Small Joys and Hold Onto Them
When life feels dark, even the tiniest moments of light can make a difference. Maybe it’s a song that gives you peace, a warm cup of coffee that feels like a hug, a sunset that reminds you that beautiful things still exist. Maybe it’s the way your pet curls up next to you or a text from a friend that makes you smile. These small joys might not fix everything, but they help. And when you add them up, they become the stepping stones that carry you through.
3. Don’t Do It Alone
Pain isolates. It makes you feel like no one could possibly understand what you’re going through. But I promise, you are not alone. Reach out. Tell someone you trust that you’re struggling. Let people show up for you. And if you don’t have someone who feels safe, find support in other ways—a therapist, an online community, even just reading words that remind you that others have been here too and made it through.
This season won’t last forever. Even when it feels like it will, even when you can’t see the light yet, it is coming. Keep holding on. Keep taking those small steps forward. And if you need a reminder that you’re not alone in this, consider this your hand to hold. We’ve got this.
