Holding it Together (barely)

Holding It Together (Barely)

Some days, I feel like I might vibrate right out of my skin. Like every nerve is buzzing, every thought too loud, every breath just a little too shallow. I go through the motions — brush my teeth, answer emails, show up where I’m supposed to — but inside, it feels like I’m standing on the edge of something that might crumble at any moment.

There’s a strange kind of performance that comes with being “okay.” Smiling when you want to scream. Functioning when you want to collapse. Holding conversations while your insides are unraveling. It’s a survival tactic — one that sometimes feels like armor, and sometimes like a lie you tell just to get through the day.

Some mornings, I wake up already exhausted. My heart feels heavy before my feet even hit the floor. I tell myself: just get through the next hour. The next task. The next breath. Because some days, that’s all there is — not thriving, not even healing — just hanging on.

And yet, even in the ache, there’s something stubborn inside me that refuses to let go. Maybe it’s desperation. Maybe it’s survival. Maybe it’s both. But it keeps me moving. It keeps me showing up, even when every part of me wants to fall apart.

No one applauds the quiet endurance it takes to keep going when your world feels like it’s slipping through your fingers. But I see it. I see the courage it takes to keep breathing through the weight. To hold yourself together when the cracks show.

If today feels too heavy — if your hands are shaking and your heart feels like it’s breaking — you’re not alone.

You’re not weak.

You’re just human, carrying too much and still finding a way to stand.

And that, in itself, is a kind of strength the world will never fully understand.