When the Storm Doesn’t Pass

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about storms. Not just the ones outside our windows with thunder and rain, but the storms of life that seem to come without warning. The kind of storms that shake your world and make you wonder if the sun will ever shine again.

I’ve been through seasons where the weight of responsibilities piled so high I couldn’t see over them. Times when family, health, finances, and my own emotions all collided at once. And if I’m being honest, this year has felt like one long storm I can’t quite escape.

The Day Everything Collided

It was a Tuesday—not that the day matters much, but I remember it clearly because it was the day I felt like I finally broke. My car wouldn’t start, my phone had been buzzing non-stop with messages about my grandmother’s condition, and my husband came home from work stressed from his job and saying he’ll be out of town because of it.

On top of that, my daughter spilled juice all over the one bill I had been saving to mail out, and I realized I was late for yet another appointment. By the time I sat down that night, I felt like my entire world was spinning out of control.

And in that moment, I did something I rarely let myself do: I cried. Not the quiet, graceful kind of cry. The ugly kind—the one where your body shakes, your breath stumbles, and you wonder if you’ll ever stop.

Carrying What No One Sees

The truth is, so many of us carry things no one else sees. People look at me and see a mom, a caregiver, someone who “has it together.” But behind that picture, there are moments of exhaustion, guilt, and doubt.

No one saw me rushing through traffic only to be turned away because I was late. No one saw me standing in the pharmacy line, calculating if I had enough to cover my grandfather’s medication. No one saw me sitting in the dark, staring at the ceiling, wondering if I’m doing enough.

We live in a world that praises strength, but what about the moments when strength looks like simply getting out of bed? What about the days when surviving the storm is the biggest victory?

Lessons From My Grandparents

Despite their health struggles, my grandparents continue to teach me more about life than anyone else ever could. My grandmother, even in her weakest moments, still tells me to eat before I leave her house. She worries about me when she’s the one who needs the care. My grandfather, though slower now, still manages to tell jokes that make us laugh until we cry.

And I realized—storms don’t always destroy. Sometimes they reveal what’s been holding us together all along. My grandparents remind me that love, in its purest form, is sacrifice. It’s showing up even when it hurts. It’s laughing through pain. It’s remembering that every small moment counts.

Finding Small Glimpses of Hope

Storms are loud, messy, and overwhelming. But if you look closely, there are moments of calm even in the middle of them.

Like when my son crawled into bed beside me and said, “I just want to be near you.”
Or when my grandmother smiled at me through her pain and said, “You’re stronger than you think.”
Or when I finally let myself sit with a cup of coffee in silence, and for a moment, I remembered to breathe.

Hope doesn’t always come in grand gestures. Sometimes it’s hidden in the smallest of things—quiet moments that remind us we’re not as alone as we feel.

Why I Keep Writing

I know my posts aren’t always pretty. They’re not wrapped in perfect bows or Instagram-worthy snapshots. But that’s not life. Life is messy. Life is missed appointments, spilled juice, and bills stained with tears. Life is carrying more than you think you can, and somehow, still standing.

I keep writing because I know someone out there is in their own storm right now. Maybe it looks different than mine—maybe it’s financial struggles, relationship battles, or health scares. But the feeling is the same: heavy, overwhelming, exhausting.

If that’s you, I want you to know you’re not failing. You’re not weak. You’re human. And even in the storm, you’re still moving forward.

Waiting for the Sun

They say storms don’t last forever, but sometimes it feels like they do. Still, I believe with all my heart that no storm is endless. There will be a morning when the clouds break. There will be a day when the weight feels lighter. There will be laughter again, peace again, light again.

Until then, I’ll keep carrying what I can, leaning on faith when I feel empty, and reminding myself that hope doesn’t need to roar—it just needs to whisper, “Hold on.”

Because even if the storm hasn’t passed yet, I know it will. And when it does, I’ll be standing—tired, maybe, but stronger than I was before.