proof i was here

sometimes i still don’t understand how.

there were moments when i genuinely thought i wouldn’t make it through. moments that hurt so badly that surviving didn’t feel like an achievement—it just felt like something i somehow woke up still doing.

and maybe that’s the strange thing about surviving.

people see you standing, laughing, working, taking care of things, living your life… and they assume you’re okay.

but sometimes i’m not.

sometimes it still hurts.

sometimes something small brings everything back, and suddenly i’m that version of myself again—the one who was scared, exhausted, confused, and just trying to get through another day.

i don’t talk about everything i’ve survived. not because it didn’t matter, but because some things are difficult to put into words. some wounds don’t show on your skin. some memories don’t disappear just because time passed.

i’ve changed since then.

i had to.

i became stronger in places where i never wanted to be strong. i learned how to keep going even when i didn’t have an answer for what came next. i learned that healing isn’t always beautiful. sometimes healing looks like getting out of bed. sometimes it’s laughing again. sometimes it’s admitting that you’re still hurting.

and sometimes, it’s simply saying:

i’m still here.

i might have survived it.

i don’t know exactly how.

but i did.

and even though it still hurts sometimes, i’m trying to believe that surviving wasn’t the end of my story.

lately, i’ve been thinking a lot about how different life feels when you finally step away from the noise.

most days, i’m constantly moving.

work in the morning. responsibilities waiting when i get home. a little one who needs me. groceries, cleaning, laundry, meals, errands, and all those tiny things that somehow become a full-time job of their own.

and somewhere in between taking care of everyone else, i’m trying to remember to take care of myself, too.

sometimes i wonder what it would feel like to just… stop.

not forever.

just long enough to breathe.

then i look at pictures like these and i understand why i’m so drawn to the mountains.

there’s something about colorado that feels completely different from everyday life.

the mountains don’t rush.

the rivers don’t rush.

the trees don’t rush.

even the moose in this picture looks like he has absolutely nowhere to be.

meanwhile, i’m over here mentally making a list of everything i need to do tomorrow.

maybe i need to take notes from him.

rest first. responsibilities later.

but honestly, i think that’s what i’m craving.

a slower kind of life.

a morning where i don’t immediately think about what needs to be cleaned.

an afternoon where i can sit beside a lake without checking the time.

a walk where i’m not walking because i need to get somewhere — i’m walking because i want to.

a quiet evening where the only thing i hear is the river moving over the rocks.

i spend so much of my life being mom, being an employee, being the person who remembers things, handles things, fixes things, and keeps going.

and i love being there for the people i love.

but sometimes, i miss being just me.

the girl who wants to wander around a mountain trail.

the girl who wants to sit somewhere pretty with a book.

the girl who wants to drink coffee somewhere surrounded by trees.

the girl who wants to look at a huge mountain and think, holy crap, i’m really lucky to be alive.

i think that version of me is still here.

she just gets buried underneath responsibilities sometimes.

and maybe that’s why these mountains feel so comforting.

they remind me that i don’t have to be productive every second to have a meaningful life.

i don’t have to constantly prove that i’m doing enough.

i can pause.

i can breathe.

i can admire something beautiful simply because it’s beautiful.

and maybe someday, when my little one is older and life gives me a little more room to breathe, i want to take more trips like this.

maybe pack a small bag.

grab some snacks.

bring my camera.

find a quiet trail.

let my kid run around and explore.

and for once, not worry about whether the house is clean or whether i have somewhere else i need to be.

just us.

the mountains.

the trees.

the water.

and a little bit of peace.

because i think motherhood has taught me something important:

you can love your life and still need a break from it.

you can be grateful and exhausted at the same time.

you can love being a mom and still miss the person you were before motherhood.

you can be strong and still want somewhere safe and quiet to rest.

and you can want more for yourself without being ungrateful for what you already have.

so maybe my dream isn’t really to escape my life.

maybe i just want to build a life where i don’t constantly feel like i need to escape.

a life with more mornings like this.

more mountains.

more fresh air.

more books.

more coffee.

more spontaneous little adventures.

more moments where my kid gets to see the world outside our everyday routine.

and more moments where i get to see it too.

for now, i’ll keep saving these little pieces of the mountains in my camera roll.

maybe they’re reminders.

maybe they’re dreams.

or maybe they’re simply proof that there’s still a whole world out there waiting for me.

and one day, i’ll be standing beside one of these lakes instead of just looking at the picture.

i’ll take a deep breath, look at my kid, look at those mountains, and think:

“we made it here.”

and honestly?

that would be enough.

some days i feel like i’m living three different lives in one day.

my day starts at 8 am, when i head to work for my morning shift. i work in a retail environment, so i’m keeping the details of my workplace private, but most of my day is spent helping people find what they need, answering questions, organizing things, restocking, cleaning, and trying to keep everything in order.

you know those days when you organize something and five minutes later it somehow looks like you never touched it?

yeah.

that’s retail.

i spent part of my shift helping customers find the things they were looking for. sometimes they come in knowing exactly what they want, and sometimes they look at me like, “i have no idea where to start.”

and i’m like:

“don’t worry, i got you.”

so i walk around with them, help them find the right items and sizes, answer questions, and make sure they leave with everything they came for.

in between customers, i’m cleaning and restocking. then when things slow down, i get to chat with my coworkers, which honestly makes the shift go by so much faster.

we talk about random things, laugh about stupid stuff, complain about being tired… basically the usual coworker conversations.

then suddenly…

2 pm.

time to clock out.

except…

my day isn’t actually over.

because the moment i leave work, i switch from employee mode to mom mode.

and let me tell you…

mom mode has no clock-out time.

i go home and take care of my toddler, deal with the house, clean up, organize things, do laundry, and somehow find another five things that need to be done.

i swear the house cleans itself backwards.

i clean one room.

my toddler enters.

boom.

mess.

and because apparently i enjoy making my life harder, i decided to go grocery shopping too.

grocery shopping after work while taking care of a toddler should honestly qualify as overtime.

i walked into the store thinking:

“i only need a few things.”

twenty minutes later, my cart is full.

then i get to the checkout and see the total.

excuse me?!

i only bought food.

why does my grocery bill look like i just bought a new car?

i put everything away when i got home, took care of the little one, and continued doing all the random household things that somehow never end.

by the end of the day, i’m exhausted.

but it’s the kind of exhaustion where i look around and think:

“okay… i actually got a lot done today.”

work.

parenting.

cleaning.

groceries.

house stuff.

and somehow, i survived all of it.

my days aren’t always exciting.

sometimes they’re messy.

sometimes they’re exhausting.

sometimes i complain way more than i should.

but these little ordinary days are still part of my life, and i think one day i’ll look back and miss them.

for now, though…

i would really like to sit down for five minutes without someone needing something from me.

anyway, that’s my day.

it’s a strange kind of comfort knowing that while i’m sitting here with my coffee, staring out the window, somewhere across the world you’re living a completely different moment.

maybe it’s morning for you while it’s midnight for me. maybe the sun is shining where you are while i’m wrapped in a blanket, listening to the rain.

different skies. different clocks. different worlds.

and yet somehow, we found each other.

i never thought a person so far away could become someone i look forward to talking to. someone who makes ordinary days feel a little softer. someone who can turn a random conversation into a memory i keep replaying.

we are not the same person.

we have different stories, different cultures, different experiences, and different ways of looking at life.

but there is something beautiful about that.

because we don’t connect because we are identical. we connect because we understand each other despite everything that makes us different.

you like the things i like, but in your own way. you see the world differently, but somehow it still makes sense to me.

it’s like reading two different books that somehow tell the same story.

you are a chapter i never expected to find.

a quiet little surprise in a world that can feel so overwhelming.

there is something comforting about knowing that somewhere out there, beneath a different sky, there is someone who understands my thoughts, my feelings, my little habits, and the parts of me i don’t always show everyone.

maybe we’ll always have miles between us.

maybe there will always be oceans, time zones, and countless reasons why this should feel impossible.

but sometimes, the rarest connections are the ones that don’t make sense on paper.

they just feel right.

hello, stranger.

you've stumbled into my place where my thoughts come to rest.

i write about the things i feel too deeply, the memories i hold too lightly and the lessons life taught me the hard way.

this is not a perfect story.

it's a collection of my little moments, broken pieces, quiet victories and everything that made me who i am.