Still Standing
There’s a strange kind of exhaustion that doesn’t show on your face.
It’s not loud. It doesn’t cry in public.
It just sits there — quietly — in your chest. Heavy.
Like you’re breathing through wet cotton.
You’re not falling apart exactly.
But you’re not okay either.
You’re just… still standing.
Barely.
Sometimes, that’s what survival looks like.
Not thriving. Not conquering. Not even hoping.
Just getting through one more day without sinking.
You might have days where you’re too tired to hope,
too disappointed to pray out loud,
too emotionally drained to even scroll social media without flinching.
Everything feels loud.
Everyone feels far.
And yet…
somehow…
you’re still here.
Still showing up.
Still brushing your teeth.
Still making uncomfortable peace with unfinished prayers.
Still carrying dreams that feel too fragile to say out loud.
Still loving people who don’t always notice when you shrink.
There’s no medal for this.
No applause for the quiet work of holding yourself together.
But God, it takes everything sometimes, doesn’t it?
And if this is you
if you’ve been walking through June with a full heart and an empty tank,
if you’ve been asking for just one thing to finally break through,
if you’ve been tired of the waiting and the hoping and the repeating…
I hope you know this:
You are not weak for being worn out.
You are not failing just because it’s been slow.
You are not alone just because no one sees how hard it’s been.
Sometimes life brings us back to ourselves
through silence.
through stillness.
through small sacred visits that remind us we are not as lost as we feel.
And sometimes, the breakthrough doesn’t come loud.
It comes in the form of a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.
Or a heaviness that starts to lift.
Or the simple fact that you’re no longer afraid to go back…
because this time, you’re going back different.
Still tired.
Still waiting.
But stronger.
Wiser.
More grounded.
Still standing.
And honestly? That’s no small thing.
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