And Still, I Rise – A Thousand Times Again

Some days, it feels like I’m holding the world together with nothing but threadbare hope and a stubborn heartbeat. I wake up and the weight is still there—heavy, constant, relentless. You don’t plan for your life to feel like a merry-go-round that spins you in circles until you’re dizzy, until even the good moments blur with the painful ones. But here I am, standing in the wreckage of what once felt solid. And yet somehow, I’m still here. You’re broken down and tired… Yes. That’s me. That’s us.

There have been so many days I couldn’t find the fighter in myself. Days when I looked at the man I love—the one who still makes my heart ache with tenderness—and saw him slipping further from the life he once knew. Tim’s PNES, his battle with depression, the trauma that has gripped him so tightly… it’s been a storm without mercy. There were moments I didn’t know if we’d ever see the sun again. There were moments I held him while he seized, powerless to stop it, but desperate to carry him through.

And in those moments, I couldn’t find the fighter in me either. I felt so small. So tired. But somehow… I always saw something in him. Even when he couldn’t see it in himself. I saw the man who keeps trying. I saw the one who’s still here, still breathing, still holding my hand through the darkness. And in his fight, I found mine. So we walk it out. One foot in front of the other. Together. And we move mountains.

We have moved mountains.

Maybe not the kind you can see. But the kind you feel—the emotional ones, the invisible ones, the kind made of pain and patience and courage. We’ve moved mountains of fear and shame, of uncertainty and grief. We’ve walked through fire and came out burned, yes, but not broken beyond repair.

I think of the girl I used to be—full of plans, of light, of simplicity. And I mourn her sometimes. But I also honor the woman I’ve become. Because this version of me? She’s strong. Worn, but not defeated. Scarred, but not bitter. I’ve been forced to rise when I didn’t feel ready. I’ve had to stand back up after being knocked down by life, by love, by circumstances that were never fair.

And still, I rise.

I rise like the day, like the morning sun that shows up even when the sky is filled with storm clouds. I rise unafraid—no, not because I’m fearless, but because love gives me the courage to keep going when everything else says stop. I rise high like the waves, strong and persistent and crashing against every wall that tries to hold us back. I rise in spite of the ache, in spite of the exhaustion, in spite of the tears that fall quietly into my pillow when no one else is watching.

I rise for him. I rise because love is not passive—it is fierce. It’s standing in the gap when someone you love is too weak to fight. It’s believing in better days even when today feels like too much. I rise because he’s worth it. We are worth it. And I would do it all again—a thousand times again—if that’s what it takes to help him find his way back to himself.

There’s something sacred in the fight we fight each day. In the decision to keep showing up, even when we’re broken. In the way we choose love over despair, healing over hiding. Yes, the world feels heavy. But we don’t carry it alone.

So to anyone who feels broken down and tired, stuck on their own spinning merry-go-round of pain—know this: you are not alone. And even if you can’t find the fighter in yourself right now, someone else sees it in you. I see it in us. And as long as we keep walking, one day at a time, we will keep moving mountains.

And we will keep rising. Again, and again, and again. For love. For hope. For healing.

For you.