"I shed countless tears that no one saw, yet I appeared strong to them. I never wanted their pity."
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"I shed countless tears that no one saw, yet I appeared strong to them. I never wanted their pity."
Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.
Theodore Roosevelt
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Holding Joy While Battling the Storm Within
Hearing her share her good news fills me with a quiet, genuine happiness. I’m proud not just of her promotion but of the small role I played in guiding her there. Watching her face glow, her eyes lighting up with excitement, her voice carrying that mix of relief and pride... it’s a moment I wish I could pause and live in a little longer. It reminds me that I’ve done something right, that I can still be a source of strength for someone else.
But beneath that joy, something unsettled stirs within me.
While I smile and celebrate her, my body begins telling a different story. My chest tightens, the air feels heavier, almost like it’s refusing to move. There’s a rush inside me like my blood is racing in all directions at once. Small twitches, restless energy, an uncomfortable awareness of every heartbeat. I know this feeling too well. It creeps in quietly then suddenly takes over.
Maybe this is part of my mid life crisis... this constant questioning, this internal tug-of-war between who I am and who I’m becoming.
Anxiety doesn’t care if it’s a happy moment. It doesn’t wait for permission. It tries to interrupt, to poison the moment, to pull me away from what matters. And I find myself fighting holding onto joy with one hand while pushing back the darkness with the other.
I hate the negative thoughts, the ones that don’t belong but still feel so loud. Yet even in this, I remind myself I was present. I listened. I supported. I made a difference in someone’s life today.
Maybe healing isn’t about silencing the storm completely but learning how to stand, even while it rages.
The Devil couldn’t reach me
But his fingers left their marks.
He didn’t poison my food
with venom,
but with thoughts.
He turned hunger into a goal,
and being full into guilt.
He made love whisper,
but I couldn’t hear it.
He dipped tenderness in doubt,
until it burned
when it touched me.
He didn’t take me,
just slowed me down,
made me quieter,
suspicious of everything
that felt warm.
I’m still here,
but sometimes only in body.
I breathe,
yet he sits between my ribs,
laughing softly,
reminding me
that survival
doesn’t always mean victory.
-M