I stepped into this year carrying the weight of heartbreak. My baby cat was sick – cancer. The word alone was enough to shake me, but reality was crueler. He left too soon, and I've been grieving in ways I don't know how to put into words. Every time I scroll through my phone and see his little face, hear his tiny meows in old videos, the tears come without asking. I cry. I sleep. I cry again. And somehow, the world keeps spinning like nothing happened.
Maybe that's why everything feels dull. I go through the motions, but nothing clicks. No spark, no excitement. Just a fog I can't seem to shake off. And to top it off, my body decided to turn against me too. I've been sick for weeks, in and out of clinics, taking more medication than meals. My period is all over the place, food doesn't sit right, and I feel like I'm running on empty.
It's almost comical like if my body and mind had a secret meeting and collectively decided, "Let's make her suffer."
And work? I've put it on pause. For the first time in a long time, I stepped back and told my clients I couldn't do it. It scared me, admitting that. I didn't want to be unreliable, but thankfully, they understood. Still, it doesn't feel like me. This lost, sluggish version of myself – it's not me. But maybe that's the thing about grief and exhaustion. It shifts you into someone unrecognizable for a while.
I don't know when, but I'll find my way back. And when I do, you'll know it.
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