The Maze Inside Me.
There’s a version of me that’s rational. She’s calm. She’s clear. She knows what matters and how to move toward it. But she’s trapped. Not behind a door, but inside a maze with no end. And I can feel her clawing to get out, begging to be the one who speaks, who leads, who loves. But instead, I’m stuck with the version of me that’s tired. So tired.
She’s the one who views life in slow motion. Who wants to sleep for fifty years. Who feels shaky and timid and messy. She’s the one who forgets things, who drops the ball, who cries when she meant to pray. And I’m constantly battling her. Trying to push her aside so I can be the perfect wife. The organized one. The faith-driven one. The affectionate, sweet, clean one. The one who makes dinner and smiles and remembers to fold the towels.
But I don’t know where to go from here. Because I’m not just tired, I’m soul tired. I’m tired of pretending I’m okay. Tired of trying to explain the war inside my head. Tired of feeling like I’m failing at something that should be simple. Tired of wondering if I’ll ever feel like myself again.
And sometimes, when the exhaustion gets too loud, I remember a version of me from twelve years ago. A version that tried to leave. A version that didn’t want to keep fighting. And while I didn’t succeed, there’s a small part of me that still wonders what would’ve happened if I had. Not because I want to go, but because I want to understand why I stayed. Why I keep staying. Why I keep choosing to fight through the fog, the guilt, the ache.
Maybe it’s because somewhere deep down, I believe there’s still something worth holding onto. A whisper of hope. A flicker of grace. A reason to keep showing up, even when I feel like I’m unraveling.
So if you’ve ever felt like you’re too much and not enough at the same time… if you’ve ever wondered what it would be like to stop fighting… if you’ve ever carried the weight of a memory that still stings, you’re not alone. You’re not broken. You’re not beyond grace.
You’re here. And that matters.
