I don’t know how to begin again. The past few days—weeks—have been heavy. Truly heavy. I’ve been dredging up emotions and memories long buried; the seabed has been disturbed. Things are slowly settling, but the process has been draining. Lonely. Tiresome. Extreme.

We’ve all been sick this past week. I’m still recovering—low energy, tiredness in my bones, tiredness in my soul. Questions about love and connection keep surfacing, yet beneath everything, I know this: I don’t want to give up on love. Still, I need to refocus my energy on myself—holding myself, learning how to feel whole from within first. It’s so hard. Rewriting old narratives is exhausting. Undoing the programming, hearing the familiar voices of how I used to operate, and consciously choosing something different—it takes everything I have.

I feel groggy, stretched thin, alone. I miss the children deeply, yet when they’re here I find myself fighting for my sanity, for my peace. This inner conflict is unbearably hard, especially when it feels like no one else is walking this path with me. They don’t see the depth of it—what it stirs, what it costs. They don’t feel the tearing of the soul, the cracking open of new beginnings, the way this is reshaping my energy and my psyche.

It’s turbulent. I am tired. That’s the word that keeps returning: tired.

I want to let it all go. I want everything to settle back onto the seabed again, but transformed—into a new shell, a new stone, something that doesn’t weigh me down or hold me back. Sometimes the carelessness of people in my life makes me wonder if any of this has been worth it at all. When time finally slows, when there’s space to breathe, the old traumas rise to the surface. My body is ready to receive, yet I’m already afraid, already fighting for breath.

I long to be held—to be held in the same way I hold others. As I write, my fingers are clear: how I want to be seen matters. How I want to be held matters. These things help make me whole. And yet I know the paradox—the flaw—I am meant to hold myself. Hold yourself. Protect your energy. Protect your fire. Hone it. Become sovereign.

When I let myself reach for that place, full-body shivers move through me. A coldness arrives, but with it, a shiver of wisdom. I want the voices of my guides to step closer—to offer support, knowledge, clarity. I know it’s all happening inside me. This is about decoding. About presence. About learning to be quiet and still within myself, even when the voices are hard to hear.

What a contradiction. What a battle. The internal one—where does it end? Does it ever end?

I feel like I’m standing at the bottom of a vast hill, looking up. It feels grand and dangerous and frightening all at once. I’m torn—wanting peace, knowing life is anything but peaceful. I want this season to be over. I’m done with the rain, the grey skies, the mud. The sun must shine again. I want warmth. I want rebirth—but these growing pains are real.

Let me be free, universe