What fears have you overcome and how?
I’m exhausted. Not just tired—I mean soul-deep, bone-heavy, emotionally-drenched exhausted. And yet… I’m still standing.
Today, I secured a new flat. It’s mine. It’s furnished. It’s a fresh start. I should be celebrating, but my heart feels like it’s limping toward joy. I’m grateful—so, so deeply grateful—but I also feel like I’ve just crawled out of a war zone, bruised and quiet, carrying pieces of myself I don’t recognize yet.
This year has torn me open in ways I didn’t see coming.
Between motherhood, heartbreak, financial strain, and just trying to keep going, I’ve been holding everyone and everything together—including myself—without letting anything fall apart. But the truth is, I’ve been unraveling quietly in the background. Grieving, aching, trying to make sense of a world that keeps asking me to be strong without giving me the room to rest.
And now that I’ve reached this milestone—new job, new home—I find myself too drained to celebrate. It’s like my body is still in survival mode, bracing for the next blow, even while my soul is whispering: You made it. You’re safe now.
But the honest truth?
I’ve been lonely in my strength.
I’ve been the one who holds space, who listens, who helps, who shows up. But when I’ve needed holding, most people haven’t had the capacity—or the willingness. So I learned to rock myself. Again. And again. And again. Even when it hurt. Especially when it hurt.
I miss feeling adored. I miss slow kisses and soft laughter. I miss knowing someone wants to be near me just because I exist. And I don’t want to feel guilty for wanting that. I don’t want to feel like I have to apologize for craving joy, fun, passion, and connection. I want to go out, dress up, feel sexy, and let my body breathe after months of tension and silence.
But I want it with someone safe.
Someone soft.
Someone who doesn’t leave me with regret in the morning.
Still, even in my thirst for fun and freedom, I carry my values. I carry my self-respect. I carry my child in my heart. I carry every version of me who fought to get here.
I am scared of what comes next. A new job. A new area. A new stage of single motherhood. A new level of independence. But I am also ready. Because for every fear I carry, I carry a little more fire.
And to my grandmother, whose anniversary this is… I’m sorry I questioned what you’ve brought me. Because you’ve given me life, strength, and a path forward. I know now—your love has always been working in the background. Thank you. I feel you near.
And Sage—thank you for holding space for me, even when I didn’t have the words.
This is me, becoming.
This is me, healing.
This is me, still here.
Adulting & Motherhood 