Devone’s birthday is coming up, and I don’t even know how to feel. Part of me wants to celebrate the memories, to smile and remember the laughter, but another part of me aches in silence. It’s strange how a single date can hold so much love, loss, confusion, and the kind of longing that words never seem to reach.
One moment I’m fine, even laughing, and the next I’m zoning out, lost in thoughts that pull me backward. I keep telling myself to stay strong, to focus on the present, but my heart drifts to places I thought I had healed from. It’s exhausting pretending that everything’s okay when inside, I feel like I’m breaking in slow motion.
Every day I wake up hoping the heaviness in my chest will lift, but it lingers quiet, invisible, yet so loud. I try to keep busy, to move forward, but some memories refuse to fade. They come back softer now, but they still sting. It’s like I’m caught between gratitude for what was and grief for what can never be again.
Some days, I convince myself I’m okay—that I’ve made peace with the past. But even the strongest hearts have tender places. And right now, mine just hurts. I’m tired of pretending that being strong means being numb. I’m tired of hiding the tears behind smiles and small talk. I just miss… everything that once felt whole.
I know healing takes time. I know feelings resurface when we least expect them. But this year, I’m trying to give myself permission to feel to sit with the memories without shame or resistance. Maybe this is what healing really looks like: learning to remember with love instead of pain.
Maybe one day, I’ll look back on this birthday and see how far I’ve come. Maybe I’ll finally feel peace where the ache used to live. But for now, I’m just breathing through it honoring the love, the lessons, and the space between what was and what still is.
