Sit With Me Awhile

The night before had emptied everything out of me.

There were no tears left.

No words left.

Just the quiet exhaustion that follows the kind of crying that comes from somewhere deep inside your chest.

At some point the room had gone silent.

And eventually the sun came up.

Morning has a strange way of arriving whether you feel ready for it or not.

I remember noticing the light first.

It was coming through the window the same way it always had.

Soft. Steady. Unbothered by the storm that had taken place inside my heart the night before.

For a moment I just sat there.

My body felt heavy, but something inside me had shifted.

Not healed.

Not fixed.

Just quieter.

The kind of quiet that happens when the worst part of the emotional storm has finally passed.

The life I had known was still gone.

The consequences of my choices were still real.

Nothing about my circumstances had magically changed overnight.

But something inside me had.

I had made it through the night I thought would break me.

And that realization carried a quiet kind of strength.

Not the loud kind people talk about when they say someone is “strong.”

The quieter kind.

The kind that simply says:

I’m still here.

I stood up slowly that morning.

Not because I suddenly had answers.

But because the sun had come up, and life was still moving forward.

And even though my heart was still hurting, I understood something important for the first time.

If I could survive that night…

maybe I could survive the next day too.