The weight of the moment, the gift within !

 

 This week isn’t even over, and already it feels like I’ve lived a thousand thoughts, a hundred emotions, and a dozen quiet goodbyes in my mind.

I’ve come to realize that it’s not one big thing that’s weighing me down—it’s a million little ones. Like whispers at the back of my heart, all asking for my attention at once. And in the noise, there’s fear. Not the paralyzing kind, but the kind that comes with loving deeply, hoping fiercely, and daring to dream despite not knowing what tomorrow looks like.

I am scared. Of the what-ifs. Of change. Of goodbyes, especially the ones that feel bigger than they are. But I am also brave. Brave enough to face it all, to walk through it, to feel every part of it without shutting down. Brave enough to trust that even in chaos, there’s meaning. Even in tears, there’s release.

This Easter weekend I’m stepping away—camping, connecting, breathing. It’s not just a holiday, it’s a moment to remember that nothing is permanent, not the pain or the fear. Life moves. So must I.

I’m still healing. Still learning to be okay with not being “done” yet. I always want things fixed, neat, perfect—yesterday. But healing doesn’t bow to impatience. It humbles us. It slows us down so we don’t miss the sacred in the struggle.

I’ll probably cry again. Panic. Doubt. That’s just how I’m wired. But I’ll also rise again—because I always do. Because God’s never let go of me, even in my kicking, screaming mess. He’s carried me through storms I thought would end me. He’ll do it again.

So here’s to taking chances, making memories, and living in the now—even if the now is messy. Every moment counts. Even the hard ones.

Did something here speak to you?

Leave a comment if you feel moved, or simply sit with me in quiet.

If you’d like to walk this road with me, follow Nomadic Grandmother for new stories.

— x Elsabe