He told her she was strong. It feels like a lie. She doesn't feel strong. But she made a choice, a choice to move forward. To keep going and maybe there's strength in resiliency. Through all the hurt and ugliness she's sure will bury her, she keeps breathing. And even though she can't move on, not yet anyway, today she lives. Consciously makes the choice that living and breathing are more important than her grief. More important than herself or her insecurities or the needling of her anxiety.
She can't see it yet, but perhaps there is meaning in all of this. Meaning in the mess beyond herself and even if she struggles to live for herself, she will live for them. And even if living is hard she will focus on breathing. In and out until tomorrow brings a new day and perhaps she reclaims a piece of herself.
She knows, no matter what happens today, whether she lives or dies, tomorrow will come. Given the choice, she'd rather be alive when the sun rises. Still breathing because that…that she can do. Even if it is the only thing she is capable of doing, she will do it. She will keep breathing. Keep moving forward. Because she knows that little piece, that teeny, tiny fragment of herself is hidden within the sunrise. With each sunrise she knows that little by little she will find a way...a way back to herself. And for now that is enough. That is her strength.
