There were days I didn’t want to get up.
Days where the weight of everything sat so heavy, it felt impossible to breathe, let alone move.
Grief has a way of making the world feel like it’s ended…
and yet, somehow, the sun keeps rising.
And so did I.
I don’t say that like it was easy.
It wasn’t.
There were mornings I rolled out of bed with tears already in my eyes.
Nights where I stared at the ceiling, wondering how much more my heart could take.
But somewhere deep down, I made a choice.
To keep showing up.
Not in big, flashy ways.
Sometimes it was as small as brushing my teeth.
Calling a friend back.
Stepping outside for a breath of air when the walls felt like they were closing in.
Every time I did that, I was choosing life.
Choosing hope.
Choosing to believe there was still something worth fighting for even when I couldn’t see it yet.
I used to think courage was loud.
That it was standing on a stage or winning the battle in front of everyone.
But I’ve learned that courage is quiet.
It’s in the moments no one sees,
when you refuse to let the darkness swallow you whole.
And when I look back now,
I see a girl who didn’t have to keep going… but did.
A girl who found strength in the smallest steps.
A girl who decided that even though grief would always walk beside her, it would never lead the way.
I’m proud of her.
I’m proud of me.
Until next time,
D