Time. Doesn’t it give some perspective?

It’s almost been a month since my last post.

A while ago (a year, six months, even three) that would have meant something entirely different.

Back then, silence meant defeat. It meant that anxiety had swallowed me whole, that the weight was too heavy to carry, that the things that usually kept me afloat (like reading, writing, sharing) had slipped out of my hands.

I couldn’t imagine a version of myself that wasn’t haunted, a life where my mind finally stopped chasing me. For someone who never learned how to let go of control, trusting the process felt impossible, until life gently proved that I didn’t have to hold everything together.

But this time, silence meant life.

I wasn’t hiding. I wasn’t escaping. I was finally living, really living. Like breathing after being underwater for too long.

That first inhale isn’t just oxygen. It’s proof that I survived. Proof that my body remembers how to live even when my mind forgets.

Slowly, everything rearranged itself.

I woke up without the tremors of racing thoughts. My heart was beating quietly : no palpitations, no alarms.

Food tasted good again.

The world looked full again.

More importantly, I could hear my own laughter again, and it startled me : familiar yet so distant, like finding an old song I used to love.

I could walk outside without that knot tightening in my stomach.

At night, sleep suddenly came gently, instead of the endless battle of tossing and turning.

And again, breathing… breathing was no longer something I had to remember to do. It simply happened.

The little girl in me, the one who feared being left, forgotten, abandoned : she’s no longer hiding in a corner. She is surrounded. Celebrated. Friends crossed cities, borders, to be here, to choose me without hesitation. To build a village around me, with their presence for one of the most important days of my life.

I have someone who looks at me like I’m a home he had been searching for. Someone who shows up before I even ask, who chooses me loudly, every day and has for the past five years. I am loved in ways I never knew possible.

Sometimes we whisper prayers and forget about them. But God doesn’t. And quietly, without warning, they are answered. We end up walking right inside what we once begged for… without even realizing we’re living in a blessing.

And with this gratitude comes a small tremor of fear : how good can it get before it slips away again?

For once, I choose to stay here. To feel the warmth without anticipating the cold. To breathe without waiting for the next wave. For now, I’ll try to enjoy, breathe, live. I hope you find a moment today to do the same.

And if you’re reading this from a place of pain, and none of these words feel true for you yet, please don’t lose hope. Even when you can’t see the light, it’s already on its way. I promise, it will find you too, very soon.

Until then, hold on to the tiny sparks and the small moments.

Sincerely,

Rania 🤍