Enduring Seasons

View of Toledo by El Greco

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There are times when the air feels too thick to breathe.

Not just a moment of sadness, but a kind of quiet saturation — like everything is too much, all at once, and your skin can’t quite contain it.

You go through the motions.

You put the kettle on, forget about it, put it on again.

The clock ticks.

You cancel plans.

You forget to text back.

The day folds in on itself and you wonder how you’re meant to keep doing this — this life, this being human, this endless stretch of feeling.

Sometimes it’s not a crisis, exactly.

It’s just...heavy.

Like the emotional exhaustion has taken up residency.

Like tiredness has moved into your bones and unpacked its things.

No one tells you that emotional pain can feel so physical.

That there are mornings when even brushing your teeth feels like a negotiation.

Maybe some seasons are meant to be endured, rather than solved.

Witnessed, rather than fixed.

There are moments when we ache for the kind of comfort we can’t ask for.

A parent’s arms.

A hand reaching for yours.

Someone to whisper, “I love you.”

And yet, most of the time, we do carry it alone.

At least for a while.

And then it changes us.

There’s no moral to that.

No neat little quote to tie it up.

Just the quiet knowing that we’ve all had days like this — or years.

Some people will say “healing isn’t linear” and it’s true, but it’s also not particularly comforting when you’re crawling through the debris of something that once looked like hope.

Still — I’ve come to believe that survival is made of tiny things.

Clean pyjamas.

Feeding the cat.

Reaching for a clean mug instead of yesterday's tea stained culprit.

It doesn’t always look like progress, but something shifts when you stop trying to make it all go away and just start being in it.

Not forever.

But long enough to stop running.

We want relief, clarity, a way back to ourselves.

But sometimes, the only way to find those things is to admit we’re lost.

Maybe we don’t need to rush to feel better.

Maybe we need to feel more honestly.

To let ourselves be more human.

More tired.

More uncertain.

More heartbroken —

Until we remember...

It's ok to be all those things.

And still be on the right path.

Still be worthy of love.

Still capable of joy.

Even if it doesn't feel like that today.