I knew this wouldn’t be easy. Starting over never is. But today, it feels especially heavy. The errands, the packing, the endless list of things that need to be done—it’s like I’m running a marathon with no finish line in sight.
And then there’s work. A part of me wonders if I should have just taken a leave, given myself the space to breathe. But fear creeps in. What if I lose my job? What if they think I’m making excuses? What if my personal struggles start spilling over into a place where I’ve fought so hard to stay professional?
So I push forward. I drop off the kids’ lunch, I take the phone call with my mom, I juggle everything at once. And somewhere in the chaos, exhaustion settles in—not just the kind that sleep can fix, but the kind that comes from carrying too much for too long.
The hardest part isn’t the to-do list or the physical exhaustion. It’s the fear. Fear of what comes next. Fear of how I’ll hold everything together. Fear that if I stop, even for a moment, everything will fall apart.
But here’s what I’m slowly realizing: Fear doesn’t mean I’m failing. It just means I care. I care about providing for my kids. I care about keeping my independence. I care about proving—to myself, more than anyone—that I can do this. But caring doesn’t mean I have to carry everything alone.
Maybe I can’t take a full break, but I can find moments of rest. Maybe I can’t control how others perceive me, but I can remind myself that their opinions don’t define my worth. Maybe I don’t have all the answers yet, but I know this: I am not going back. I am moving forward, no matter how hard it gets.
And on the days when the weight feels unbearable, I will remind myself—this is temporary. The struggle won’t last forever. But the strength I am building right now? That will stay with me for life. I will get through this. One step at a time.