8.5.25
It’s only August 5th, and I’m already praying for the month to be over. Life feels heavy—there’s so much on my mind, and a quiet, lingering grief that seems to follow me everywhere. I’ve been talking to my higher power a lot, trying to understand what I’m supposed to be learning from all of this. These difficult times are stretching me in ways I didn’t expect, and I’m left wondering what I’m meant to be doing, what my purpose is in the midst of it all. I even called it Karen and had to apologize today.
Faith and hope don’t come easily to me right now. Some days they feel far away—like things I know I should believe in but can’t quite reach. But even in that struggle, I’m trying. I’m trying to trust that I’m not forgotten, that there is still a path forward, even when I can’t see it. I’m trying to have patience with the process, and with myself.
Grief can make everything feel slow and uncertain, like time has stalled and healing is just out of reach. It’s hard not to want to skip ahead—to rush through the discomfort and land in clarity, in peace. But I know that rushing doesn’t bring meaning. So instead, I’m trying to sit with it all. To breathe through the ache. To believe that this pain isn’t pointless, even when I don’t understand it.
I’m doing the best I can to hold onto the smallest threads of hope—that healing is still happening, even quietly. That something good might still come from this. That my higher power is working, even in the silence.
I don’t want to drink. I’m thankful for that.
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