Today, I feel like I’m unraveling.
Not in a dramatic way.
Not in a way that needs to be fixed.
But in that quiet, heavy way only a tired heart understands.
I showed up for work today, caring for my elderly client like I always do. I smiled. I made the bed. I played the movie. But beneath it all, I wanted to disappear into silence. I felt invisible not because I’m not doing enough, but because it feels like no one sees what I carry just to keep going.
I’ve been the strong one for so long for my children, for my clients, for my husband, for my past selves. I’ve worn every version of myself: Nicole, Nikki, Luna. Each one carrying a different part of my story. Each one still learning to forgive the world for handing me so much pain disguised as "character-building."
And lately, I’ve been wondering if I can keep pretending this version of life is enough.
I don’t want to work jobs that drain my light just to survive.
I don’t want to keep being "the reliable one" at the expense of my own peace.
I don’t want to silence my soul just to keep a paycheck.
I want to go home to myself.
To my children.
To my creative spirit.
To the dog business I started with love.
To the books I’ve written that carry Ava’s name and my own healing.
Yes, we live in public housing. Yes, my husband’s union might go on strike again. And yes, I’m scared. But I’m more afraid of what I’ll lose if I keep sacrificing myself to systems that don’t see me.
Today, I’m not writing to be inspirational.
I’m writing because I need to feel real.
Because maybe someone else out there is carrying invisible weight too.
And I want you to know:
You’re not weak for wanting out.
You’re not selfish for dreaming of rest.
You’re not wrong for being the one who says, "No more."
I am tired.
I am worthy.
And I am finding my way home.
—Luna D.
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