If I Could Wake Up With Amnesia

There are days when I wish I could just wake up with a clean slate—no stress, no worries, no endless to-do lists waiting to be tackled before the coffee even brews. Just a single morning free from the weight of everything that’s ever gone wrong, every responsibility, every ache that lingers in the heart. Wouldn’t it be something to open your eyes and—for just one day—forget what life demands of you?

I think about that sometimes. How peaceful it might feel to wake up with amnesia and see the world as if for the first time. No baggage. No pain. No fear of what’s next. Just a quiet moment of wonder, the way a child sees the world before it’s taught to worry.

But then, I think—if I really could forget it all, even for a day, I’d lose more than just the stress. I’d lose the lessons. The gratitude. The proof that I’ve made it through every hard thing I never thought I could.

Stress is heavy, yes. Life can be loud and relentless, full of pressure and uncertainty. But when I look back on all the times I’ve thought, I can’t do this anymore, and realize—I did—it changes things. Because those days carved something into me that peace alone never could: resilience. Strength. Perspective.

Still, I get it. Some mornings, all you want is a break from your own story. A pause button for your brain. A little mercy from the chaos. And maybe, in its own way, that longing is holy too. Maybe it’s the soul’s way of saying, I need rest. I need to breathe again.

What I’ve learned is that peace doesn’t always come from forgetting—it comes from remembering the right things. Remembering that even when the world spins too fast, I don’t have to keep up with it. Remembering that I can slow down, breathe deep, and let grace fill the space that stress has taken over.

If I could wake up with amnesia, maybe I’d forget what worry feels like—but I’d also forget how it feels to overcome it. I’d forget the joy that comes after endurance, the sweetness of laughter that only means something because I’ve known tears. I’d forget how it feels when Tim smiles on a hard day, or when we find peace after a storm. I’d forget that miracles often hide inside the moments we wish away.

So maybe I don’t want amnesia. Maybe I just want perspective.

Maybe what I really need isn’t to forget life’s stress, but to remember that it’s not the whole story. That behind the stress is purpose. Behind the exhaustion is meaning. Behind the worry is a God who still holds every piece of this unpredictable life in His hands.

There’s beauty even in the tension. Because the same heart that aches under stress also beats for love, for hope, for connection. The same mind that spins with worry can also dream, imagine, create, and believe again. The same person who wishes for escape can also whisper a quiet, defiant, “Thank You, Lord, for getting me through another day.”

Maybe that’s what grace looks like in the real world—not a life without stress, but a life where peace keeps showing up in spite of it.

So, no—I don’t need to wake up with amnesia. I just need to wake up with perspective. I need to remind myself that life is hard, yes—but it’s also breathtaking. That stress may fill my mind, but gratitude can fill my heart. That even when the world feels heavy, there’s still beauty hiding in the cracks of ordinary days.

If I could start fresh, I’d choose to remember differently. I’d hold on to the good—the love, the laughter, the grace that threads through the chaos. I’d let go of the weight that isn’t mine to carry. I’d stop fighting the storms and start learning how to dance in the rain.

Maybe that’s what freedom really is—not forgetting the pain, but refusing to let it define the day.

So today, I’ll make peace with what is. I’ll make my tea, breathe deep, and whisper to myself, You’ve made it through worse. You’ll make it through this too.

Because the truth is, I don’t need amnesia to find peace.
I just need to remember who I am, whose I am,
and how far I’ve already come.

And that, right there, is enough.