Today was an absolutely terrible day.
Not hard.
Not “a bit stressful.”
Terrible.
One of those days where your body feels like it’s vibrating under your skin, where your mind is a storm of noise, where everything inside you is screaming “too much.”
And maybe it was.
There are days when overwhelm doesn’t whisper—it roars.
It claws.
It demands to be felt.
And as much as I wanted to push through with grace or strength or whatever word we use when we’re trying to pretend we’re fine… I wasn’t fine.
Not even close.
This is the part people don’t talk about:
Healing doesn’t prevent terrible days.
Healing teaches you how to survive them without abandoning yourself.
Today felt like being cracked open.
Like my nerves were outside my skin.
Like I was one breath away from collapsing under the weight of everything I’ve been carrying so quietly.
But even on days like this, the Crow comes.
Not as a symbol of darkness—but as a witness.
The crow sits on the edge of the chaos and reminds me:
I see you. I’m not afraid of your shadow.
You don’t have to pretend with the crow.
And then, somewhere under the exhaustion, under the panic, under the heartbreak of being overwhelmed, I feel the Flame—small, trembling, but still there.
Not blazing.
Not inspiring.
Just… present.
A single spark refusing to go out.
Today isn’t a day for solutions or lessons.
It’s a day for honesty.
I was overwhelmed.
My body and mind were screaming.
And instead of silencing them, I’m writing this to say:
I hear you.
Sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is simply stop running from yourself.
Terrible days don’t define you.
They don’t undo your progress.
They don’t erase your strength.
They are part of the path.
Even the crow has days when its wings feel too heavy.
Even the flame flickers.
But they remain.
And so do you.
Crow and Flame 