It takes one step at a time.
They say, "It takes one step at a time to reach every dream you anticipate. You won't achieve it in just a snap, and you'll face more than just hardship." Sometimes, it might feel impossible to keep moving forward on the paths you've chosen.
There will be times when the weight of your choices feels unbearable, and you start to doubt everything you've worked for. But don't ever give up. Instead, look back and see how far you've come—how many battles you've fought, how many scars you've earned, and how much strength you've built along the way.
The process of success may be slow, painful, and agonizingly hard, but darling, don't ever give up—this is not the end.
You should always trust the process, no matter how much it makes you bleed. Even when the pain is so overwhelming that it feels like you're breaking, remember that each wound, each tear, each sleepless night is molding you into someone even stronger than you were yesterday.
There are days and nights when I find myself doubting if I can continue. The pain I carry, the sorrow that haunts my heart, feels like a never-ending storm, battering me from every side. The weight of it all is crushing, and sometimes I wonder if it's even worth it. Yet, each day, I somehow manage to rise from the bed that feels like a prison. I wake up with a fire that burns through the numbness, forcing me to keep moving, keep breathing, keep surviving.
It still hurts—God, does it hurt. The pain never really leaves; it lingers in the background, a constant reminder of the battles I've fought and the ones still to come. It bleeds—sometimes I feel like I'm bleeding out, slowly, quietly, and no one notices.
But I know I need to be strong because, in the end, no one is coming to save me. It's just me against the world, and I've learned that the only person I can truly rely on is myself.
It's a lonely existence, being strong.
It's the kind of loneliness that gnaws at your soul, making you question everything—your worth, your purpose, your very existence. It’s agonizing to be alone in a world where no one understands the weight of the pain I've been carrying for years. I’ve become so used to it that I no longer expect anyone to truly see me, to see the cracks in my armor, the tears I cry in the dark.
The people I thought would be my shelter, the ones I trusted to hold me when I was falling apart, turned out to be my hell. My mother, the woman who should have been my comfort, my refuge, was instead the source of some of my deepest wounds. Her love is a complicated thing, a mix of anger and resentment that she pours out on me in ways that cut deeper than any blade. She says she loves me, but her words are like knives, each one sharper than the last. I’ve learned to brace myself for her outbursts, to swallow my pain and stand tall even as her words tear me down. And yet, for all the hurt, I still find myself craving her approval, her affection—hoping that maybe, one day, she’ll see me not as a burden, but as someone worthy of her love.
Then there’s my father, a man who was supposed to be my protector, my guide. But when the storms hit, he was always the first to leave. He has a habit of disappearing when life gets hard, retreating into his own world and leaving me to fend for myself. There’s a coldness to him, a distance that makes me feel like I’m not really his daughter, but more of an inconvenience, a reminder of responsibilities he never wanted to take on. I used to wonder if he even loved me at all, or if I was just another part of his life that he wished he could forget.
Over time, I stopped expecting him to be there, stopped hoping that he would ever be the father I needed. I’ve had to learn how to be my own protector because the man who should have been that for me was always somewhere else, somewhere far away from the pain that he left me to carry alone.
So, I've learned to be with myself, to confront the demons that reside within me, to build myself from the ground up. I've become my own shelter, my own protector, my own savior. But sometimes, just sometimes, I still wish and pray to God that one day, He'll bring someone into my life who can see the real me
—the girl who is strong, yes, but also so, so tired. Someone I can be vulnerable with, someone who will be my safe place, someone who will let me cry without judgment or shame. Because honestly, I don't know how much longer I can carry this heavy sadness in my heart.
In the darkest moments, when the despair feels like it will swallow me whole, I remember that God is here, guiding me through the storm. There have been nights when I've prayed with tears streaming down my face, begging not to wake up again, wishing for the pain to end. But each morning, I find myself still here, breathing, living. Sometimes, I wake up feeling lighter, as if He has taken some of the pain away, only for it to return at night, creeping back into my soul. And in those moments, it’s just me and the Lord again, a silent understanding between us. He didn't take me because He knows I didn’t truly mean it when I said I wanted to die—He knows there's still a fight left in me, even when I can't see it.
Life is a gamble, and sometimes, it's brutally unfair. But even in the unfairness, in the pain, in the loneliness, I keep going. Because deep down, I know that this strength, this resilience, is not for nothing. One day, it will all make sense. Until then, I just keep taking it one step at a time, trusting that somehow, someway, I'll make it through.
