Maybe i’m not broken, maybe i’m just fucking done
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I have a sadness about me today. I can’t write. Can’t create. Just laying here, watching the ceiling fan go in circles while I rot on the floor.
I shared this earlier today on my notes… now I want to write about it.
This sadness…it moves through the ribs, gets stuck in the throat, wraps around the spine like a thorned vine. My heart numb… heavy.
Grief that doesn’t speak the way we’re used to, it’s just there… clinging to everything.
It’s not just my sadness. It’s ours. Collective. Generational. Global. The weight of trying to keep going when everything around us is falling apart. So many of us are holding on by threads. Fighting to preserve what once was.
We were sold the illusion and now we’re waking up inside a system that’s crumbling, and being told to smile while it does. Keep working, doing, creating —pay your bills. Taxes. Keep feeding the machine or it will take you down with it.
We’re living in a time where we have to choose. Choose to stay awake, feel, care.
And once you choose this…
you can’t unsee the lies.
you can’t unfeel the disconnect.
the disembodiment.
the uncertainty that sticks to your skin and doesn’t wash off, no matter how much salt or smoke you pour over it —no matter how much you pray… you can’t unsee the monsters.
I’m supposed to stay hopeful…
present.
resilient.
informed.
in service.
But no one talks about what it costs to keep showing up in a world like this. What it does to your mind to be this awake, this close to evil. What it does to your spirit to witness genocide, violence, lies, war, injustices, and collapse —and still make dinner like it’s a normal day.
Maybe i’m not broken. Maybe i’m just fucking done.
How many more things do we have to witness before we admit the system is against us? How long do we keep waiting for someone else to show up and fix it? How long do we keep waiting to feel like we’re allowed to speak about what this is doing to us?
Because if we keep waiting, if we keep staying quiet —we’ll collapse under the weight of pretending it’s fine.
I’m not fine.
And tomorrow, I’ll probably be okay. It’s a constant back and forth, a kind of whiplash that catches you in the space where the heart meets the mind. I keep reminding myself that more than one emotion can exist at once, but at what point does it stop feeling like dread and start feeling like anything else?
I’ll keep at it though, re-visit the drawing board (how to resist and fight against the oppressors while keeping my house tide and my children fed). sigh.
I know we are doing the best we can. It’s all too much so don’t let anyone convince you otherwise. This shit is not normal.
In the meantime, I will lay here, on the floor, thinking of how I can show up tomorrow. That is my best right now.
I’m in no rush to gather my broken pieces. No rush to build myself up just to feel seen. I want to be a ghost for a while —welcome the shadows of all I’ve hidden, neglected, forgotten. I want to sharpen my tongue & pour honey over my wounds.
I want to simply be.
I’m protecting my heart, my mind, my spirit.
I pray that you do the same.
With Love, Juliet
xo
Remember to allow yourself to:
• Rest when the weight feels heavy.
• Trust yourself through the uncertainty.
• Feel deeply without judgment.
• Embrace the messiness of becoming.
• Be patient with your process.
• Release what no longer aligns.
• Bloom in your own time.
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