In life, there are moments when the path you’ve been walking on suddenly crumbles beneath your feet. You find yourself falling into a chasm of uncertainty, and it’s in those moments that you question everything. It’s in those moments that I found myself questioning my deepest desires and grappling with a profound grief that seemed insurmountable.
I had embarked on a journey, a quest to become a mother, and it was a dream that had taken root deep within my heart. The joy of nurturing life, of watching little feet take their first steps and hearing the laughter of a child had become a beacon of hope in my life. But as time passed, and the trials and tribulations of life wore on, my path grew fraught with doubt.
I fell off track, and it wasn’t just a stumble; it felt like a free fall into a bottomless pit. I began to question whether I even wanted to be a mother anymore. It wasn’t because I had lost my desire, but because I wanted it so desperately that the idea of it never coming to fruition was too painful to bear. It was a grief that wrapped around me like a shroud, a heavy cloak of sorrow that I couldn’t shake.
And then, just when I thought I had hit rock bottom, I received the devastating news that my papa had succumbed to COVID. The pain was unimaginable, and it was as if life itself had conspired to test the limits of my strength.
In those dark moments, I grappled with my spiritual journey. I questioned the fairness of it all. I wondered how a higher power could allow such pain and suffering. But as I delved deeper into my own spiritual beliefs, I realized that it wasn’t about finding answers; it was about finding solace in the unknown. I had to learn to accept that life’s mysteries are not always meant to be unraveled.
My fitness journey had also taken a backseat during this turbulent period. I had let go of the one thing that had always brought me solace and strength. But, just as the sun rises after the darkest night, I decided to rise too. I knew that I needed to regain control of my physical well-being, not just for the sake of my health but as a means of healing my spirit.
My mental health journey became paramount. I sought therapy, leaned on friends and family, and allowed myself to feel the grief that had weighed me down for so long. I gave myself permission to mourn, to weep, to scream if necessary. It was through these raw emotions that I found the courage to begin my ascent from the abyss.
So, here I am, writing these words as a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. I’m climbing back onto my path, not because the grief has vanished or because the desire for motherhood has waned, but because I refuse to be defeated. I choose to believe that life still holds miracles, even when it seems they are slipping away.
As I reconnect with my spiritual self, reignite my fitness journey, and tend to my mental health, I’m reminded of the strength that runs through my veins. I come from a lineage of survivors, individuals who have faced their own battles and emerged victorious. My journey is far from over, and every step, no matter how small, is a step toward healing and self-discovery.
I’ve fallen, I’ve grieved, and I’ve questioned, but I’ve also risen, fought, and found resilience within myself. The path may be uncertain, but with each step, I move forward, inching closer to the life I still hope to create, and closer to honoring the memory of my beloved papa.