"The Days That Break You"

 

When the Ground Beneath Me Changed

 

Some mornings begin with sunlight, coffee, and hope. Then some mornings begin with silence—so heavy that even the walls seem to understand something is wrong before you do. Yesterday was one of those mornings. I woke up as I always do. There was nothing unusual about it. I reached for my phone, still half asleep, opened my emails without thinking much, and within a few seconds, it felt as though the entire day had collapsed before it had even begun. Sometimes life does not knock before entering. It simply walks in, sits beside you, and changes everything with a few lines of text. I kept staring at the screen, reading the same words over and over again, hoping they would somehow change. They never did. For a few moments, I just sat there. Motionless. Silent. Unable to process what had happened. Then the tears came. There was no one at home. No one to ask me what was wrong. No one to tell me that everything would be alright. The empty house became my only companion as I cried louder than I had in a very long time. People often say that crying solves nothing. Maybe they’re right. The problem remains. The email does not disappear. Life does not suddenly become easier. But sometimes crying is not about finding a solution. Sometimes it is simply the heart asking for permission to become lighter, even if only for a little while. So I cried. Not because I am weak. Not because I wanted sympathy.

I cried because I have carried too much for too long. The truth is, this was never just about one email. It was never just about one refusal. It was never just about one job. It was everything. Every application. Every rejection. Every sleepless night. Every unanswered prayer. Every plan that looked perfect until it slowly fell apart. Sometimes I sit and wonder what in the world is happening to me. There are seasons in life when everything seems to move together in the wrong direction. It feels as though every door you walk towards quietly closes before you even get the chance to knock. You begin asking questions that have no immediate answers. Did I make the wrong decisions? Am I walking in the wrong direction?

Have I disappointed God somehow? Why does every step feel heavier than the last? These questions are dangerous because they slowly begin to sound like the truth. You stop believing in yourself before anyone else does. You begin doubting your own worth. You start wondering if maybe you’re simply not meant for the life you’ve been praying for. I wish I could say I have all the answers. I don’t. I am still trying to understand why certain chapters had to be written this way. There have been moments when I genuinely believed that things were finally falling into place. Then, almost without warning, life reminded me that nothing is guaranteed. Another setback. Another delay.

 

Another mountain to climb. It is exhausting. More exhausting than most people realise. Because what they see is someone smiling. What they don’t see is the person who lies awake at night replaying every conversation, every decision, every possibility. They see laughter. They don’t hear the prayers whispered with tears. They see confidence. They don’t witness the moments when hope quietly leaves the room. I have often heard people say that God gives His hardest battles to His strongest soldiers. There were days when I believed that completely. Now, if I am honest, there are moments when I simply ask Him, “Can I rest for a little while?” Not because I want to give up. But because I am tired. Tired of starting again. Tired of rebuilding. Tired of pretending that every setback doesn’t hurt. There are moments when I miss the feeling of certainty. I miss believing that everything will work out exactly as I planned. Life has taught me that plans are fragile. One phone call. One email. One decision made by someone you’ve never met. That is sometimes enough to change the direction of your entire life. And somehow you are expected to stand up the next morning and continue as though nothing happened. That is perhaps the hardest part. The world never stops. Bills still arrive. People still expect smiles. Responsibilities continue. Life does not pause simply because your heart is breaking.

 

Yet somewhere in the middle of all this disappointment, another thought quietly entered my mind. The hands that once seemed to carry me through every difficult season suddenly feel distant. For a brief moment, I wondered if I had been left alone. Then I remembered something I had learned many times before. Silence does not always mean absence. Just because I cannot see those hands does not mean they are no longer holding me. Perhaps they are simply working where my eyes cannot reach. Perhaps the distance I feel is only because I cannot yet understand what is being prepared. Faith has never been about seeing everything clearly. Faith has always been about continuing to walk even when the road disappears into the fog. Maybe God is not walking away from me. Maybe he has simply walked ahead.

 Maybe while I am standing here mourning another closed door, He is quietly building another one that I have not yet discovered. I don’t know. But I want to believe that. Because without hope, disappointment becomes permanent. Hope doesn’t erase pain. It simply reminds us that pain is not always the final chapter. I have realised something about storms. While we are inside them, they feel endless. The rain convinces us that the sun no longer exists. But every storm in history has eventually run out of rain. Every single one. Perhaps mine will too. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not next week. But someday. One day, I want to read this chapter again. Not because I enjoyed it. But because I survived it. I want to remember the morning that broke me.

 The afternoon that made me cry until there were no tears left. The nights when I questioned everything. Because maybe those memories will become proof that I kept walking when stopping would have been easier. I do not know what tomorrow looks like. I do not know where my career will take me. I do not know how every problem will be solved. I do not know when the waiting will end. But I know this much. I have come too far to allow one chapter to define the entire story. I have survived days I once believed would destroy me. I have watched impossible situations slowly become testimonies. So perhaps this, too, will become another page in a story I do not fully understand today. If life has taught me anything, it is that endings often disguise themselves as beginnings. Maybe this refusal is not the end. Maybe this disappointment is not a punishment. Maybe this delay is protection. Maybe this silence is preparation.

And maybe those hands I cannot seem to find today are quietly building something so much greater that I would never have understood it had everything gone according to my own plans. So today I will allow myself to cry. Tomorrow I will wipe my tears. And the day after that, I will begin again. Not because life has suddenly become easier. Not because the answers have arrived. But because somewhere deep inside me, beneath all the disappointment, beneath all the fear, beneath every unanswered question, there is still a small voice refusing to die. It keeps whispering the same words over and over again. “Hold on a little longer. The story is not finished yet.”

Joice 💓