Even when I don't feel me.

The last three weeks have fucking wrecked me.

My mental health has been a battle.

A stomach bug knocked me on my ass.

Shark week showed up because apparently I needed one more thing.

And now I’m fighting a chest cold that has sucked every tiny fucking drop of energy I had left.

And somewhere in all of that…

I stopped feeling like me.

Not “I’m having a bad day” not me.

I mean I don’t recognize myself some days.

I’ve had moments where my life has felt like a fucking movie I’m watching instead of a life I’m actually living.

I’m there.

But I’m not there.

I hear people.

I answer.

I work.

I smile.

I do what needs to be done.

But inside?

I’m somewhere trying desperately to find my way back to myself.

I’ve spent so much of the last few weeks grounding myself. Trying to pull myself back into my body. Trying to remind myself where I am. Setting boundaries that people don’t understand because they don’t feel what I feel when I’m overwhelmed.

And sometimes those boundaries mean missing out.

Missing moments with my family.

Saying no.

Staying home.

Choosing myself when every fucking part of me feels guilty for doing it.

And I’m tired.

So fucking tired.

But I still showed up.

I medicated myself just to get through my market because people were counting on me.

I got up when I wanted to stay in bed.

I worked when I had nothing left.

I kept going when my brain was screaming at me to shut everything down.

And no, I’m not proud because I think I should have to push myself until I break.

I’m proud because I’m still here.

I could stop.

I could let the exhaustion win.

I could let the mental health spiral take everything from me.

But I refuse.

Maybe I’m not showing up at 100%.

Maybe I’m showing up at 20%.

Maybe some days it’s fucking 2%.

BUT I’M SHOWING UP.

And right now, that has to count.

With the guilt.

With the confusion.

With the fear.

With the uncertainty.

With the exhaustion.

With the part of me that doesn’t even recognize herself right now…

I’M STILL SHOWING UP.

Maybe not as the version of me everyone knows.

Maybe not as the strong one.

Maybe not as the woman who has her shit together.

Maybe right now I’m just the version of me who is surviving something I don’t completely understand yet.

And maybe that’s okay.

I’ve never experienced my own life feeling this disconnected before.

But when I finally find my feet again…

I’ll have another fucking tool in my toolbox.

Another thing I understand.

Another piece of myself I fought my way back to.

Because healing isn’t always pretty.

Sometimes healing looks like crying in the bathroom and walking back out like nothing happened.

Sometimes it looks like cancelling plans.

Sometimes it looks like boundaries people think are selfish.

Sometimes it looks like sleeping because your body has nothing left.

Sometimes it looks like showing up while silently falling the fuck apart.

To everyone else, I’m doing all the things.

To me?

I’m barely holding this shit together.

And that's the part we don't talk about enough.

Mental illness doesn't always look like someone falling apart.

Sometimes it looks like the person who still shows up.

Still works.

Still laughs.

Still takes care of everyone else.

Still answers the messages.

Still gets shit done.

While internally they are fighting like hell just to stay connected to themselves.

So please…

BE KIND.

You have absolutely no fucking idea what someone is carrying.

And sometimes?

They don’t even know what the fuck they’re carrying themselves.

That’s why we keep talking.

That’s why we keep breaking the silence.

Because somebody needs to know they aren't broken just because they don't feel like themselves right now.

You can be struggling and still be showing up.

You can be exhausted and still be fighting.

You can be lost and still be finding your way home.

And even when you don’t feel like you…