Tag: love

Day 106: Recovering from the Break Down

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So I am back. Today I am smiling again, even though there is still pain in my heart. Life feels heavy right now, with so many things going wrong all at once. Some days I am simply too weak to face it. On those days, I withdraw into myself and hope that the storm will pass. It feels like the world is closing in, and all I can manage is the simple act of waking up. I want to lie down the whole day, doing nothing, because nothing makes sense. It feels like drowning on dry land—unable to breathe, unable to move forward. My heart had taken my mind hostage, and I was trapped in the tension between wanting to live fully and feeling paralyzed by pain.

My mind kept reminding me of all the things I needed to do, all the ways I should keep pushing forward. But the reminders felt hollow, because nothing seemed to matter. I don’t like this feeling, but I think it was inevitable. For too long, I’ve tried to push down the pain, convincing myself to focus only on the good things. That works sometimes, but not always. There are days when the weight of what I’ve hidden breaks through, and I am forced to face the vulnerability I fear. I hate being vulnerable. I think I am scared of what it reveals about me, scared of being seen as weak. Yet, despite that fear, I made it through. After days of feeling like everything was collapsing, I am finally beginning to emerge from the darkness. Sitting here now, writing this post, I feel grateful to be back on track, ready to work toward meaningful change in my life.

I know this cycle will repeat if I keep relying only on myself. That’s why I hope, going forward, I learn to turn to God instead of crashing out internally. He has carried me even when I never asked Him to. If He takes care of me without my asking, how much more will He take care of me when I reach out to Him for help? That thought gives me hope. It reminds me that I don’t have to fight alone, that there is strength beyond my own walls. And today, even with the pain still lingering, I am smiling again—because I believe I am being led toward something better.

Day 101: Cracked Walls, Shaken Will

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There are nights when the tide rises too high, when emotions surge like waves against the walls of my chest, and breathing feels like a luxury. Tonight is one of those nights. My mind is a storm—thoughts racing, colliding, multiplying—each scenario demanding attention, each possibility dragging me deeper into the undertow. The compartments I’ve built to keep myself functioning are collapsing, one after another, until I am left standing in the ruins.

It’s astonishing how something so irrelevant, so small, can become the final straw—the crack that shatters the whole structure. I want to run away, to escape, to leave everything behind. And yet, tomorrow I know I will begin again. I will stack bricks of compartmentalization, rebuild fragile walls, and convince myself I can breathe one more time. But tonight, I am falling.

There is irony in this collapse. A quiet voice inside me whispers: You’ve been here before. You survived. This storm will pass. But another voice roars louder, insisting that my heart is breaking, that this breakdown is shameful, that I am failing to meet the world’s impossible standards of “normal.”

Society has taught us to equate breakdowns with weakness. To cry is to falter. To panic is to fail. To admit that the mind cannot carry the weight is to confess defeat. And yet, isn’t it strange that we celebrate resilience only when it looks polished—when it’s the triumphant comeback, the motivational story, the glossy version of survival? We rarely honor the messy middle, the nights when breathing feels impossible, the moments when strength is simply enduring the next minute.

But here is the truth I am learning: weakness is not failure. A breakdown is not the end—it is a signal, a cry for pause, a reminder that even the strongest structures need repair. To collapse is human. To rebuild is human. To admit that the tide is too high is not shameful; it is honest.

So tonight, I step back. I let the walls fall. I let myself feel the weight of this moment, knowing that tomorrow I will gather the pieces again. Today, only part of me believes in my resilience. Tomorrow, I hope the whole of me will recognize it.

And perhaps, if we begin to speak of these nights openly, without shame, we can redefine what it means to be “normal.” Maybe normal is not the absence of breakdowns, but the courage to rise after them. Maybe normal is not perfection, but persistence.

Day 100: Choosing Joy, Seeking Peace

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Today feels different. It is a day of contemplation, a pause to ask myself – why am I doing this?

When I began this blog, it was with the hope of reigniting a passion that had quietly slipped away. Writing once centered me, even when my world was engulfed in chaos. Putting thoughts onto paper made the weight of life feel lighter, more bearable. It gave me perspective, strength to fight one more day. But somewhere along the way, the more blows I took, the further I drifted from writing. I lost a piece of myself without even realizing it.

I wonder—when did we move away from doing things simply for the joy of doing them, to doing things only because we have to? Today, every action seems to demand justification, a measurable benefit. My parents called it “growing up.” But in truth, it clipped the wings that longed to fly. Perhaps they too had dreams they were expected to abandon in the name of reality.

I count myself among the privileged, because I still have the choice. The choice to follow dreams, even when it goes against everything I’ve been taught. The choice to take the difficult path, knowing it may lead to failure. But I am grateful for that choice, because even if I stumble, I will have tried. And in trying, I will have chosen happiness. In a world where joy feels scarce, perhaps that is the greatest achievement of all.

While I am deeply grateful for all the blessings God has given me, I cannot ignore the reality that, in many parts of the world, people’s lives are engulfed in war and suffering. Their homes are burning, their families torn apart, and their futures uncertain. My heart aches for them, and so I lift my prayers to the heavens—for peace, for hope, for protection, and for safety.

Prayer may be the only thing I can offer from where I stand, but I believe it matters. I believe that once hearts are changed, the world itself can change. And I hold onto the faith that God is the One who softens hearts, just as He did with Pharaoh in the Holy Bible. If He can turn hardened hearts toward compassion, then there is hope that even in the midst of war, humanity can find its way back to peace.

Day 91: Five Steps Closer

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Spontaneity has never been my strength. Sudden plans usually send me into a spiral of panic. But there are exceptions—and family outings are one of them. When I’m with my family, the anxiety fades. I don’t worry about what others think. I just feel safe.

Six months ago, life looked very different. I could barely walk without dragging my leg behind me. Sitting down and standing up from a chair felt like climbing a mountain. I had no strength in my legs, and I often wished for a chair in front of me just to hold onto, in case I fell. Nights were the hardest—I remember crying quietly into my pillow every time I had to turn in bed, praying no one would hear me.

Today, I’m not what most would call “healthy,” but I’m far better than I was. And today, I had a victory.

We went out as a family for lunch. To reach our reserved table, I had to climb five stairs. Five steps—something so small for most people, but for me, it was monumental. Each step sent shooting pain through my legs, but I made it. I leaned on my sister to get down the stairs, but I didn’t break down crying. I got through it. Those five steps were everything.

The meal itself was wonderful. Good food, laughter, and togetherness. I even took pictures of all the dishes we ate. Funny enough, I used to judge people for photographing their food. But now, I see it differently. For me, it’s about capturing a happy memory. I don’t care if the photos are “Instagram-worthy”—I just want them for myself. Since I can’t go on the long walks I used to love, food has become my next best subject for photography. One of these days, I might even start sharing them online.

Leaving all that aside, today was a good day. Yes, I’m in some pain, and yes, I’m exhausted—but nothing I can’t handle. More importantly, I’m determined. I don’t want to go back to my “old self.” I want to become my better self. And with faith, family, and perseverance, I believe I will.

Day 84: Challenges, Courage and Change

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Today felt different. Better. After two long weeks of discomfort and frustration, I woke up with pain that was finally tolerable. My ankle and knee are slowly finding their way back to normal, the swelling has eased, and even my stiff shoulder is beginning to loosen. Yes, there’s still sharp pain when I try to move it, but the range of motion has improved — and that alone feels like progress worth celebrating.

I find myself thankful to God for this healing. I don’t think I did much to bring it about; I only cried out to Him in my pain. Yet, He listened. Sometimes I wonder how Jesus finds the time to care for all His children. I know I can be a handful, but His love never wavers. Even when I am unreasonable, He remains the one who listens. Faith needs nurturing, but His love is constant — and that is my anchor.

Today also brought another small victory: I cooked for my family. It was tiring, but I managed. Cooking has always been my quiet escape, my “me time,” where I lose myself in flavors and creativity. But as I watched my parents eat, I noticed something different. They aren’t the same as before. It feels like the weight of my struggles has spilled over into their lives, leaving them subdued, eating only to fill their hunger. I miss the joy we used to share — even amidst fights and hardships, there was laughter. Now, it feels like the poison of my pain has touched them too. More than anything, I want them to see me happy again. I want to bring light back into their lives.

This year, I’ve decided, will be a year of change. Challenges lie ahead, but I hope to face them with strength and courage. I want to emerge with a lighter soul, one that has found its purpose. Healing isn’t just about the body — it’s about the spirit, the heart, and the bonds we share. And I believe that with faith, love, and perseverance, I can get there.

Day 83:Disconecting from Autopilot

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How do people find something to write about their everyday? I find my life totally uninteresting. I am what people call boring.

Is this what adulthood looks like? A day that start with work and ends with sleep? I am embarrassed about it. I never thought much of it. I have spent months together doing nothing more than just logging on to work and closing my laptop and going to sleep. I never gave it a second thought.

I was missing out on life. I do not get to spend time with my family or my friends. I do not spend time doing things i love – like creating art. Ironically, art became a stress reliever for me rather than something that I spent time with “just because”.

Do others also feel like this? Like their life is losing its purpose. Just going through the motions day after day without any thought to the “why”.

The truth is, everyone needs something to look forward to. A reason to wake up with anticipation instead of resignation. With all the ups and downs in my life I stopped hoping. I was mechanical. . I had no bigger goals or dreams behind it.

Time to reset that part of me. I am going to try making small goals. It is what is suggested you see. Given that I have a history of not staying on course it makes sense. The small wins will encourage me to make larger ones. Hopefully.

Day 82: Good Choices with an Indecisive Food Craving

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Sometimes, the simplest choices make the biggest difference. Last night, I switched off my alarm and let my body decide when it was ready to wake. And it did—naturally, without the usual jolt of sound. That extra rest washed away the exhaustion of yesterday, leaving me lighter, clearer, and grateful.

The ankle swelling did creep up as the day went on, but the pain and limp were noticeably better. In fact, I barely thought about the pain at all today—which says more than any words could. It’s amazing how healing feels when it quietly slips into the background.

Food, however, was a puzzle. I had one of those days where I craved something but couldn’t name what. Nothing on the delivery app spoke to me, and I had no energy to cook. Eventually, I settled for a sandwich—more out of necessity than desire, just so I could take my pills. I don’t even remember how it tasted. It made me realize: I need a list of easy-to-cook recipes for days like this. Meals that don’t demand effort but still fulfill the simple goal of eating. A personal menu I can flip through when my brain refuses to decide.

I also added a sticky note to my desk today—a small but powerful reminder not to make unnecessary “consumer” purchases. It worked. I scrolled through shopping sites, felt the temptation, saw the note, and deleted items from my cart. A tiny act of discipline, but one that saved me from burning a bigger hole in my wallet.

Today was good. I’m thankful for the relief from pain, thankful for the sleep that reset me, and thankful for the restraint that kept my spending in check. Sometimes, a good day isn’t about grand achievements—it’s about listening to your body, honoring your needs, and celebrating the small wins that add up to balance.

Day 26 to Day 34 – Christmas Joy and Family Time

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The past few days were blissful. I took a break from blogging and all my online activities because I wanted to be present in the moment. I realized I had lost so many moments by isolating myself. Carrying the weight of my emotions had made me toxic. I was always angry—it became my defense mechanism. If I refused to talk to anyone, I wouldn’t have to tell them the truth. I just wanted to hide the pain for as long as possible. I didn’t realize the cost I was paying. On some days, I even felt I deserved it.

Now that the turbulence in my life has finally settled, I want to be happy even if I don’t feel I deserve it. I realized that my pain had been joy for someone else.

So, I took a break from all the pain to focus on my blessings. I spent time with my family. We went on a road trip! A long drive took us to a wellness center. There was some walking and climbing, which really drained me. The long drive made my leg swell, and every step was painful. I wanted to give up and return home, but somehow, by the Grace of God, I made it—and it was worth it. I didn’t need my phone to distract me. Instead, I sat with my family and spoke to them. I listened to many stories about my parents’ childhood and even my own. I don’t remember much from my childhood, so whenever my mother shares an incident I was part of, I end up asking her, “Was that really me?”

Normally, I sleep with a video playing on my phone to get through the night. But during the trip, I slept peacefully and woke up feeling refreshed. We had a camp fire, ate barbecue, laughed at the silly antics of my nephews. We sat hours looking a birds and squirrels. I sat for the whole sunset and it was amazing. I do not remember the last time that I did that.

I did have a small scare, though. I slipped in the bath. It was terrifying—the shampoo soap got into my eyes, and I couldn’t see. I fell on the floor and couldn’t get up. The pain in my legs was excruciating. I thought of calling my family to help me, but I didn’t want them to see me like that. So, I grabbed a towel, wiped away the soap, and forced myself to stand. It wasn’t easy; I kept losing my balance, but somehow I got back on my feet. I thanked God a million times and prayed earnestly that none of my bones were broken. The next day, I woke up with some pain from the fall, but it was tolerable. I thanked God once more for showing me that He may seem far, but He is always near.

I continued to enjoy the rest of the trip, and it was worth it—every single moment. I will always cherish it, and hopefully, next year I’ll go on another trip without the pain.

Day 1: Making each day Count

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There are moments in life when the weight of reality feels heavier than ever. For a long time, I didn’t think much about how long I had in this world. It didn’t matter to me. But now, just as I began to hope for a long and fulfilled life, things have taken a different turn—and it hurts.

I find myself battling with my own thoughts, ashamed that I let things get so bad. I know I’ve caused pain to my family, and the one thing I always wished was that they would never have to bury me. That thought alone feels like the worst punishment I could give them. And yet, facing the possibility of it, I realize I need to live better—not just survive. I want to take care of my health, to be stronger, and to leave behind good memories for the people I love most.

I don’t know if my family will ever read these words, but if you do, I want you to know something: I love you. Even if I don’t say it often, even if harsh words have been exchanged, my love for you has never changed. I have always felt your love, even in moments of loneliness. Despite the walls I built around myself, I knew you were there, waiting for me.

If I leave this world before you, I am deeply sorry for the pain I’ve caused. If I could start my life over again with you, I would. But I am not ungrateful—I’ve had a better life than many, and a longer one than most.

From here on, I want to take things one day at a time. To be better than I was yesterday—in my faith, in my family, and in my dreams.

Unfavorable Circumstance

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Daily writing prompt
When was the first time you really felt like a grown up (if ever)?
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Growing up is never fun. I guess it’s worse when circumstances push you towards it.

Being the younger child I am the family baby. My parents protected me all through my life and my sister always went above and beyond to shield me from every pain.

Life had a different path set for me. When I was 14, I saw my mother fall sick. I saw her working through her pain and exhaustion to provide for her children. And then, I saw her body fail her. She forced herself to get up and pretend everything was okay but I somehow I realized that she was hiding the truth.

I remember walking into the hospital with her when she finally could not push herself any longer. I remember her on the hospital bed talking and explaining her issues to the doctor. After that, it was like a switch. She slowly started fading. It like her mind finally was exhausted holding on and then she started getting worse. My sister and father were unable to be with us at that time. So I sat at the side of my mamma’s bed, alone, seeing her struggling to breathe. Every time she woke up she told me she is okay but I could see her fading away, I could see the color of her skin change, I could see her slowly loose her appetite, I could see her fighting to stay alive.

My mother thought that I was small and that I did not understand anything but I remember every update the doctors gave. I realized the possibility that I could loose my mother. I used to cry when I showered so that no one would know that I was crying. I did not want my mamma to worry about me. I could see that she was in pain and there was nothing I could do to get her out of it.

I realized that seeing her in pain was far worse than the pain of loosing her. I tried to grow up to be stronger. When my sister and father were able to join us I sought to be the person they could rely on. I held my sister when she broke down crying in worry and told her that we need to be strong for mamma. When my father put his hands around my shoulder I told him that we were a family and that together we can face anything. In those moments I knew I could not be the person that is been taken care of rather I needed to be the person who took care of others. I took it upon me to stir conversations away from the gloom and glum. I know that the worry will always be there in the back of their mind but for those few minutes I wanted them to remember the happiness.

By a miracle, I got my mother back and lets be clear there have been many close calls after. But today, I am not fearful, I am determined to be the wall to fall back on. There is no circumstance that my family would have to face alone. I will be the courage they need to continue.

To all the Children who grew up to soon, I may have been hell but you got through it. Your courage and determination is beyond comprehension. I hope that you get to have days in your life to relive the innocence of a child.