Author: Mikki Eveloff

Late Blooming Lessons – Life’s Second Chapter

“The ones we love never truly leave us. They live on in our hearts and in the way we love.”

 Lesson #13: August 30th…11 Years

It happens every year.
July ends. The calendar flips. August arrives. The countdown is on. And without warning, my stomach tightens with a familiar wave of emotions.

It’s not intentional. It just happens.
A song brings sudden tears. My nerves feel fragile. I try to redirect my thoughts, but the ache sits quietly beneath the surface. The reminder is there. What was. What should have been. And what’s coming.

August 30th. Eleven years. And no. It doesn’t get better.
It doesn’t get easier.
It still hurts.

I remember those days before we left. Each detail etched in my mind.
The odd urgency in his actions. Suddenly moving our bank accounts after thirty-plus years.
I asked, Why now?
“We’ll do it when we get back,” I suggested.
But he said, “No. It must be done now.”

And so it was.
Wills. Trusts. Important papers. All brought home.
Bills paid ahead for three weeks.
Who does that? And why?
There’d be time when we returned. But he insisted.
I didn’t understand. He was stubborn. And it wasn’t worth a fight. So I let it be.

We were going to celebrate. Our 60th birthdays. Milestones. Family. Fun. Sunshine and surf.
But he couldn’t let go.
Business followed us, as it always had.
I accepted it.  Made the best of the moments we had together.
He was tired. Still trying. Doing too much. Being everything for everyone.

And. He paid the price.

Every year, I go back to that day.
The “What ifs” are relentless. But useless.
No answer.  No scenario, could change the ending.
So I accept what was, and I try to move forward.

But love never dies.

August will always remind me of the life I left behind. The love that was lost. And the joy he never got to see.
That’s the part that breaks me.  The joy we could have shared.

Not a day goes by that I don’t think of him.
I see him in the eyes of the little ones. In their smiles. Their giggles. Their sweet souls.
And I believe he sees them too.

Another year. Another reminder.
We’ve loved. We’ve lost.
But we carry his legacy with kindness.
With generosity.
And always.
With love.

#GriefJourney #LifeAfterLoss #LoveNeverDies #ForeverInMyHeart #GriefAndHealing
#GoneButNotForgotten #RememberingAlways #FindingStrength #HealingTogether #GriefSupport

Late Blooming Lessons – Life’s Second Chapter

“There are moments that mark your life, moments when you realize nothing will ever be the same and time is divided into two parts, before this and after this.”

Lesson #12: The Week That Changed Everything

It’s that time of year. Again. August. End of summer. The start of school. A season of new beginnings.

But for me. It’s different.

August has never been just another month on the calendar. For me, it carries a weight. A shadow. The month that changed our lives. Forever. Eleven years. It still arrives with the same heaviness. Reminding me of what was. And what will never be again.

I relive each day as if it were yesterday. Sun-soaked mornings. Sandy beaches. Laughter echoing in the air. Celebrations that felt simple and full. Time to soak in the gift of being together. Family. Memories now frozen in photographs I hold close. Long dinners that stretched into the night. Inside jokes only we understood. Little adventures that became ours alone.

I can still see the sparkle in his eyes, the smile that could light up a room. I hear his unmistakable laugh. Those “snorty squeals” that left us doubled over.  His presence filled the space, vibrant and alive.

But when I look back now, I see more than I did then. I see the exhaustion beneath the laughter. The weariness he carried but tucked away. He hid it well, so we wouldn’t worry, so we wouldn’t know. He wanted to give us joy, even if it cost him his strength. And that’s who he was. Always.

He was always caught in a battle; work versus rest. And work always won. Not because he loved it more than us. Not because he wanted it that way. But because he didn’t know how to step back. He carried the weight of responsibility in his bones. Even when he was tired. Even when he was drained.

At the time, I told myself this was just who he was. Dedicated. Loyal. Driven. I didn’t see it as a warning sign. None of us did.

But now, when I look back, I can’t help but ask: Did we miss something? Should we have known? Did he know? Some days I think he did. But he would never let it show. He was too busy making sure everyone else was happy, even if it meant pushing himself beyond his limits. That was the man he was.

And so, that trip, the beginning of what was supposed to be a week of joy, became the beginning of the week that would change everything.

The beginning of goodbye.

#GriefJourney #LifeAfterLoss #LoveNeverDies #ForeverInMyHeart #GriefAndHealing
#GoneButNotForgotten #RememberingAlways #FindingStrength #HealingTogether #GriefSupport

Late Blooming Lessons From Life’s Second Chapter 

A journey of discovery. A discovery of self. Pieces of old. Paired with pieces of new.

Lesson #11: The Gift of Forgiveness: Healing for Yourself, Not Them

“Always forgive others, not necessarily because they deserve forgiveness, but because you deserve peace of mind.”

How many times have you been so hurt by someone?  A family member. A friend. A partner.  And you didn’t think you’d ever be able to forgive?
How many times has that hurt consumed your entire being, making it impossible to move forward? Find peace? It takes over your thoughts. Your heart. Your ability to trust. And eventually…your ability to breathe freely.

We all carry invisible wounds. When those wounds are caused by the very people we trusted most, they cut deep. And in those moments, forgiveness can feel impossible.
It can feel like you’re excusing the inexcusable. Or forgetting something unforgettable.

But that’s not what forgiveness is.

Forgiveness Is a Choice. 

For You. 

Not Them.

Forgiveness means different things to different people. But at its core, it’s an intentional decision. To let go of resentment. And anger. Not because they deserve it. But because you do.

When you hold on to pain. Anger. And betrayal. It’s you who suffers. That energy festers. It keeps you in emotional quicksand. Stuck in the past. Reliving the same hurt on a loop. Forgiveness allows you to finally step out of that space.

It’s not about pretending everything is fine. It’s about saying:
“This happened. It hurt. But I refuse to let it define me anymore.”

And yet…

You say…I’ve done this. One too many times.
Forgiven. Tried to forget. Moved on.
Yet each time, it comes back to hurt me. Again. And again. And again.

So when is too much, too much?
When is it time to finally say, “No more.”
I forgive. BUT. I will not forget.

Where do I draw the line between the hurt and my peace?
It stops HERE.

Forgive… but never forget.
For me.
For my peace.
For my space.
I have to let go.

Because nothing. No, nothing. Will. Ever. Change.

Forgiveness Isn’t Forgetting. It’s Freedom.

Whatever happened. Happened. That truth doesn’t go away. And forgiving doesn’t mean making excuses. Minimizing the harm. Or letting someone back into your life.

What it does mean is that you’re ready to stop carrying it.

When you forgive, you reclaim your power. You move out of victim mode and into healing mode. You’re no longer allowing someone else’s actions to dictate your emotional state.

And when you begin to forgive yourself, for the things you did or didn’t do, for trusting someone, for not knowing better, you create space for even deeper healing. That’s when resentment begins to dissolve. And growth begins to rise.

A Path to Peace and Wholeness

Forgiveness is a powerful, transformative act. It’s not easy. It takes time. But it’s a radical act of kindness. Compassion. And self-love. It’s a bridge to emotional healing. Spiritual freedom. And genuine joy.

By choosing to forgive, you’re choosing light over darkness. Peace over chaos. And wholeness over fragmentation. You’re choosing yourself.

“Forgiveness is not an occasional act, it is a constant attitude.”
— Martin Luther King Jr.

So take your time. Be gentle with yourself. And when you’re ready, let forgiveness be the key that unlocks the life you deserve.
Not for them. For you.

#ForgivenessJourney #LettingGo #EmotionalHealing #ForgiveForYou #HealingHeart #PeaceOverPain #FreedomThroughForgiveness #SelfLoveFirst #ChoosePeace #HeartHealing #ReleaseAndRenew #WholenessOverFragmentation #ForgivenessIsFreedom #EmotionalFreedom #InnerPeaceMatters #HealingIsAMarathon #PeaceWithin #BoundariesAndPeace #ForgivenessWithBoundaries #RadicalSelfLove

Late Blooming Lessons – Life’s Second Chapter

A journey of discovery. A discovery of self. Pieces of old. Paired with pieces of new.

#10: The Grief No One Talks About

“There’s no funeral for the living who leave, only silent spaces where they used to belong.”

“Crazy how you can have loved ones looking down on you who would’ve killed to watch your babies grow, yet there are others who are able to and simply choose not to.”

That quote strikes somewhere deep. A space not often touched by words. A place where grief lives beneath the surface. Not just the grief of death, but of absence.  Of disappointment. Of being left behind by those who could have stayed. But didn’t. Or simply chose not to.

For the past eleven years, I’ve walked the unpredictable journey of grief. A road no one chooses. Twists. Turns. Sudden drops. No warning.  No matter how much time passes…that ache never leaves.

Life moves on. And most days, so do I.

But then there are days, sometimes whole weeks, when I feel frozen. Stuck. Watching the world move around me while I stay still. Grief, even years later…still finds a way to stop time.

And yet. There are flickers. Unexpected. Moments of joy. Of peace. Of hope.

But here’s what no one prepares you for. What no one tells you.

Some of the deepest grief doesn’t come from death. 

It comes from losing people who are still here. Still living. Still breathing.

The ones I believed would always be part of my circle. My life.
The ones who said they’d show up. Or didn’t need to.
The ones I leaned on.  And believed leaned on me too.

They’re still out there. Living. Breathing. Laughing.

But they’re gone in every way that matters to me.

And this kind of grief?

It doesn’t come with condolences. Cards. Or casseroles. 

It comes with silence. Confusion. A slow realization. 

This kind of loss is a choice.

Their absence is a choice. 

And that’s the hardest part to accept. 

So I sit with it. 

I think about the ones I’ve lost.

The ones who would be here if they could. Who would show up for every birthday. Every little win. Every ordinary Tuesday. Who would love my children. My grandchildren. With presence. Unconditionally. They never had the chance.

I remind myself: I can hold space for both the pain of what was lost – and the peace of what’s still possible. 

It’s devastating to recognize that someone who can be present…chooses not to be.

And so, I made a choice too. Close one chapter. Begin another.

I choose to show up. Fully. Freely. With love.

I choose my peace. Over doubt.

I choose my worth. Over silence.

In the quiet moments, the difficult moments I’m reminded of those who aren’t present, yet always here. Still cheering. Still loving. Still near. Their presence reminds me that real love doesn’t walk away. It stays.

“Sometimes we must mourn the living, too — and in doing so, we make space for our own healing.

#griefjourney #healing #choosingme #realconnections #showup #familylove #breakingcycles #emotionalgrowth #peaceoverpain

Late Blooming Lessons – Life’s Second Chapter

“Every birthday is a chance to start a new chapter – to rewrite your story with more courage, love and truth.”

#9: A Birthday Reflection

As another birthday draws near, I find myself deep in reflection. Not the kind that simply skims over memories. Or revisits milestones. But the kind that asks hard questions. The kind that sifts through the layers of a life lived. Some beautifully. Some painfully.  And the question is: What now?

The years tick by faster. Another 365 days entwined with challenges. Growth. Gratitude. Goals. Dreams fulfilled. And those unanswered.

A full spectrum of emotions. Joy that spilled over. Blessings that left me breathless. And gratitude that grounded me. But also, sadness. Grief that still echoes. Realizations that cut deep. And questions. So many questions. Questions that asked me to look closer… to feel deeper.

Questions about who I’ve been… and who I’ve silenced.
Who I’ve loved… and who I’ve lost.
What I’ve accepted… and what I’ve denied myself.

For years, I’ve made space for others. Some who should fit naturally. Yet don’t.  Shrinking parts of myself to fit inside roles. Expectations. Relationships. I’ve stayed, sometimes too long, in places where I no longer belonged. Out of obligation. Out of fear. Out of habit.

But time has a way of waking us up. And as I look ahead, I realize: It is a time to choose.

Do I stay where I must shrink to fit in? Or do I walk away …toward myself?

It’s not about running. It’s about reclaiming.
It’s about saying yes to myself. Maybe for the first time in a long time.
And making room.
For joy.
For peace.
For a life that welcomes all of me. Not one that edits who I am.

Do I wish I’d done this sooner? I do. I wish I could go back and whisper to my younger self: “You’re allowed to choose you.” But life doesn’t offer us redos. What it does offer is today. Now. The beautiful, unfolding present. And the power to begin again.

So as I turn the page into another year, I’m choosing a new chapter. One written in my own handwriting. One defined not by what I’ve endured, but by what I now allow:

Space to breathe.
Freedom to feel.
And permission. Finally. To choose me.

What brings me joy? Where is my peace?
Those are the questions I’m following forward.

And this year, I intend to find out.

“It’s never too late to become who you were meant to be.” 

#birthdayreflections #newchapter #choosingme #growthjourney #itsmytime #innerpeace #midlifereflections #joyforward #permissiontochange

Late Blooming Lessons From Life’s Second Chapter 

A journey of discovery. A discovery of self. Pieces of old. Paired with pieces of new.

Lesson #8: Happy Father’s Day

“Gone, but never forgotten. Your love still guides us every day.”

Happy Father’s Day, Greg

Ten Father’s Days.

Almost eleven years without you.
And still, it never gets easier.

Each year, as the calendar turns to June, something shifts in me. A quiet melancholy takes hold. It moves in slowly, almost unnoticed, until I feel the weight of it fully. It wraps around me like a fog—heavy, familiar, and completely out of my control.

Then the day arrives. And the ache sharpens.

You should be here.
Celebrating.
With your family.
Your children.
Your grandchildren.

We should be together—laughing, telling stories, soaking in the joy that only comes from being surrounded by love. You should be watching them grow.  Hearing their laughter.  Seeing their milestones. Their lives are filled with light, and I know that light would have brought you so much joy.

I’m sad for all that you’ve missed. The big moments. The small ones. Cruz playing basketball. Golf. Willow’s amazing dance. Her TK graduation. Riding bikes. Being silly. And baby Lennox. Her smiles. Giggles. Simply. Pure joy. The everyday magic that makes life worth living. You would have loved them so deeply. They would have loved you back with their whole hearts.

We miss you.

Your warmth.
Your wisdom.
Your laughter.
Your light.

But even in your absence, you live on—in the spirit of your children, and in the eyes of our precious grandchildren. I see your kindness in them. Your goodness. Your love. It’s in the way they care. The way they smile. The way they hold space for others.

A piece of you is in them. Always.

I still see you.
Hear you.
Feel you.
And yet… it’s never the same.
It never will be.
I will always wish for more.
And hope for just one more day.

As we welcome the official start of summer, I’m reminded that this season is one of new beginnings—of warmth, growth, and light. It invites us to reflect. To open our hearts. To pause long enough to recognize the blessings still surrounding us.

This is my prayer for Father’s Day.
For me. For our family. For all families.

May we allow the light to gently hold us.
May we find peace in the memories.
And may we live in a world where our children can grow together in love, in peace, and in harmony.

#HappyFathersDay #Blessings #Peace #LoveToAll

Late Blooming Lessons – Life’s Second Chapter

“There is no way to be a perfect mother, but a million ways to be a good one.”

 Lesson #7: Love Without Strings – The Mother I Choose To Be

It was the “job” I’d waited for all my life. When people asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I always said, “A mom.” It was my dream job.

Little did I know, it wouldn’t be all giggles and diapers. It was a full-time job—one that doesn’t come with vacation days or a clear manual—and it lasts a lifetime. And as my children grew, so did I. My role constantly shifted. Nurturer. Guide. Protector. Counselor. Cheerleader. And continues to evolve still.

I was 25 when I became a mother for the first time. I was determined to do everything “right.” I thought if I tried hard enough, I could be the perfect mom. But perfection doesn’t exist—at least not in real life. Maybe in storybooks or fairy tales. But not in the messy. Beautiful. Exhausting. Soul-stretching reality of motherhood.

What I’ve learned is this: We make mistakes. We stumble. We try again. We do the best we can with what we know. And that has to be enough.

Motherhood, for me, has been an ever-evolving role—shaped by patience. Humility. Growth. And, above all, LOVE. One of the most important decisions I ever made was to love unconditionally. Not just when things were going well, but especially when they weren’t. That meant accepting and loving my children for who they are—not for what they do, how they perform, or what they become. LOVE. No strings attached. They never had to earn it. Despite the missteps. Messy moments. Or challenges. My love has remained steadfast. And unwavering.

Did I always get it right? ABSOLUTELY. NOT. But I tried. I’m still trying. Because unconditional love is what makes them feel safe. Fully loved. Protected.

Another promise I made to myself as a mother was to truly listen.
Not just to the words spoken. But to the emotions behind them. I wanted my children to feel heard. To know their voices matter. Because listening isn’t just about offering a response. It’s about connection. It’s about seeing them clearly, in everything that makes them who they are. I want them to feel safe, calling me on the joyful days. The hard days.The quiet “nothing” days. Whether they need to laugh. Cry. Vent. Or simply be. I’ll be here. To listen. ALWAYS.

Now, as the mother of adult children (with families of their own), I often find myself reflecting on the past—wishing I could go back and do some things differently. More presence. More patience. More self-awareness. But I can’t go back. I can only choose to be better now.

I will show up.
I will listen.
I will accept. Without judgment.

Simply, I will be.
Be there to support. To understand. To love. Always love. That will never change.

The greatest gift I could ever give my kids is to love myself loudly and accept myself wholly. Not waiting until I lose (or gain) the last few pounds… not waiting to smooth out the wrinkles. The lines. Or—as my granddaughter calls them—my zebra stripes. But to embrace myself, as is, as is. To show up even when I’m exhausted. Sick. Overstimulated. Or emotionally drained. To keep pouring, even when my own cup is nearly empty. Because that’s what love does.

And to every mom in survival mode right now—please know this:
You are doing an incredible job. This is not easy. But you are not alone.

💛 The Gifts Moms Really Want (That Don’t Cost a Thing)

• A long, meaningful hug
• A genuine “thank you”
• Time together, undistracted
• A moment to rest or recharge
• Being noticed for holding it together when it felt like things were falling apart
• A few kind words: “You’re doing great. I see you.”
• A simple “I love you” for no reason at all
• Recognition not for what we do, but for who we are
• A reminder that we’re enough, just as we are

These are the gifts that matter most.

In the end, what I wanted most was simple:
For my kids to grow into confident. Kind. Loving. And happy people. I wanted them to always know they could come home—to a safe place of comfort and care, where they’re always welcome. Whether they needed encouragement. Stillness. Or just a long hug. I wanted them to know they’d never have to earn my love.

Because that’s the goal:
That they walk through this world knowing they are deeply. Unconditionally. Always loved.

To all the beautiful moms who have loved. Laughed. Cried. Endured. And grown through every season of motherhood.
You are seen. You are needed. You are the heart of it all.
And you are doing the most important job in the world.

Late Blooming Lessons – Life’s Second Chapter

A journey of discovery. A discovery of self. Pieces of old. Paired with pieces of new.

#6: The Perfection Trap: Unlearning What I Was Taught to Believe

“Perfect is the enemy of good enough.”

Nothing and no one is perfect.

I know that now. But for much of my life, I didn’t.

As the eldest of five, I grew up under the weight of perfection. I wasn’t just the oldest. I was the example. The one who had to get it right. In everything:
Appearance.
Academics.
Behavior.
Achievements.

The message was loud. And clear: Follow the rules. Do the right thing. Be who they need you to be. There was no room for error. No space for missteps. And stepping out of line? Not an option.

That pressure didn’t go away as I entered adulthood. It simply evolved—shifting from childhood expectations to internalized beliefs that shaped my choices. My worth. My identity. I carried an invisible scorecard – grading myself on everything from accomplishments to how well I hid my struggles.

Somewhere along the way, I tied perfection to love. If I performed well, I was good. If I excelled, I was worthy. If I was perfect, good things would happen. But if I wasn’t? It felt like my world…would crumble.

But here’s the hard truth:
Perfection is a myth.
It doesn’t exist. And chasing it? Is exhausting.

Letting go of perfectionism isn’t like flipping a switch. It’s a slow unraveling. A reprogramming. A practice in mindfulness. And presence. A constant effort to rewrite the narrative I’ve been repeating for decades.

It’s a daily reminder:
Things don’t have to be perfect to be meaningful.
Effort counts. Grace counts. More than getting it “right.”
Progress. Over perfection. Always.

I ask myself often:

Would I ever speak to someone I love the way I speak to myself?

The answer? Always. A hard NO.

My options? 

CHANGE.

Filter what I let in.

In our world driven by curated posts and polished highlight reels, it’s easy to fall into the trap of comparison. Picture perfect families. Flawless homes. Idealized relationships. But we forget: it’s a snapshot. A picture. A selected frame. Not the full story.

We don’t see the doubts. The struggles. The tears. The arguments. The mess behind the lens. Perfection on social media isn’t real. I remind myself. Stop chasing it.

Because the truth is:

Perfection isn’t where life happens. 

Life happens…in the mess.

In the lessons.

The missteps.

The unexpected beauty of imperfection.

So. I’m unlearning.

Unlearning that my worth is tied to how flawless I appear.

Unlearning the belief that love must be earned through performance.

Unlearning the lie that I’m only enough when I measure up to impossible standards.

Instead. I’m embracing the real.

The human.

The beautiful chaos of a life that may not be perfect…

But. It’s completely mine.

Late Blooming Lessons From Life’s Second Chapter

A journey of discovery. A discovery of self. Pieces of old. Paired with pieces of new.

Lesson #5: Solitude vs. Loneliness: The Space Between Peace and Pain 

“Loneliness expresses the pain of being alone and solitude expresses the glory of being alone.”

After more than a decade of living alone, I’ve come to understand something that took me years to fully grasp:
There’s a big difference between being alone and feeling lonely.

Being alone is a physical state. Sometimes even a choice.
It’s carving out space to exist on my own terms. Scheduling my days. Setting my rhythm. Deciding where and how I want to invest my time.
It’s walking through my home in silence. Not minding the quiet.
It’s savoring mornings with coffee. Writing without interruption. Peloton walks, runs,  workouts that leave me feeling alive. Or long walks outdoors that clear my mind.

I’ve come to embrace this kind of independence.
I’ve learned how to fill my time with joy. Grandchildren’s laughter. Books that stir my soul. Sweat that brings clarity. Stillness that grounds me.

And most importantly, I’ve come to appreciate rest.
Not as something to earn. But something essential.
A pause that allows me to show up fully present in the moments that matter.

But loneliness?
That’s something else. Entirely.

Loneliness isn’t about being physically alone.
It’s a feeling. A hollow ache that creeps in when you least expect it.
It’s the sound of silence that feels just a little too loud.
The absence of a familiar voice saying, “How was your day?”
The emptiness where shared moments once lived. Shoulders to lean on. Hands to hold. Someone who just knows.

Loneliness is disconnection.
Not just from people. But from the world beyond my front door.
It’s the quiet whisper that says, “Stay here. Stay safe. Don’t risk more hurt. Don’t expect too much.”

I’ve come to learn that you can be surrounded by people. Laughter. Conversation. A full room. And still feel completely alone.
Loneliness doesn’t care about proximity.
It cares about connection.

And on the flip side?
There are days when I sit alone in my home. Wrapped in silence.  And feel totally at peace.
Content.
Whole.
Solitude, when chosen, is restorative.
It’s the space where I reflect. Recharge. And reconnect with me.

Loneliness never asks permission. It shows up uninvited, without warning.
And navigating that—finding my way through the shadows it casts—is the real challenge.

So I’m learning.
Learning to stay present.
To shift my focus from what’s missing… to what’s abundant.
To pause. And appreciate the quiet blessings:
A warm text.
Laughter with a friend.
The sweet sound of my grandchildren’s footsteps.
The comfort of knowing that while loneliness visits, it doesn’t define me.

Because yes. Loneliness may come and go.
But I am not alone.
Not really.

Late Blooming Lessons From Life’s Second Chapter

A journey of discovery. A discovery of self. Pieces of old. Paired with pieces of new.

Lesson #4: When Life Isn’t Fair: Choosing Forward Anyway

“Life is not always fair. Sometimes you get a splinter even sliding down a rainbow.”

Life isn’t fair.
That’s not just a cliché. It’s a hard, gut-punching truth.

No matter how much we plan, how hard we work, or how deeply we hope, challenges will come. Some arrive as mere inconveniences, the kind we shake off and move past without a second thought. Others? They hit like a freight train. They crack open our world and leave us reeling. Grief. Heartbreak. Failure. Loss.

These moments—the ones we never saw coming—are inevitable.
But how we respond? That’s where our power lies.

Do we rise above?
Adapt? Learn? Push forward?
Or do we allow pain and bitterness to anchor us, holding us back with the weight of resentment and self-pity?

Losing Greg—my partner, my person—in the prime of our life together, made me want to scream at the sky:
LIFE IS NOT FAIR.
Why him? Why now? Why take one of the good ones?

It felt so cruel. So senseless.

But grief has a way of making you look around and realize something else. My loss, as personal and devastating as it was, isn’t the only unfairness in the world. Others are grieving too. Wildfires destroy homes. Accidents take lives. Tornadoes. Floods. Infertility. Rejection. Job loss. The list of heartbreak is endless.

That truth doesn’t ease the pain.
But it shifts something inside.
It reminds me I’m not alone in this.

From a young age, we all face the same difficult lesson: Life is not fair. And yet. We keep going.
The difference between people who stay stuck and those who find a way forward? It’s not what they’ve been through. It’s how they choose to move through it.

I know what it feels like to stay stuck.
I lived in that space for a long time.
It felt safe to expect the worst. Predictable. If I didn’t allow myself to feel hope, then disappointment couldn’t gut me. I thought I was protecting myself. But really, I was just surviving. And slowly, that survival mode became a trap.

It’s easy to play the blame game. To point fingers at the unfairness of it all. To dwell on the injustice. But here’s the thing: staying bitter doesn’t change the past. It doesn’t give us back what we lost. It just keeps us tethered to pain.

So what’s the alternative?

Acceptance. Not in a passive way. But as a way to take back our power.

Accept that life is unfair. That we won’t always understand the why. That some days will feel impossibly hard. That we can hate what’s happened and still choose to keep moving.

This isn’t about pretending everything is okay. It’s about giving ourselves permission to move forward, even when nothing makes sense. It’s about choosing growth. Healing. And the possibility of joy. Again.

Because sometimes, the worst moments eventually open the door to something we never expected.
Perspective. Purpose. New beginnings.

When life knocks us down and leaves us breathless, there may be no perfect words to fix it. No reason that makes it all make sense.

But in the mess. In the unfairness. We still have a choice:

Let it consume us.
Or choose. Inch by inch, to rise.

This isn’t about toxic positivity. This is about resilience.
It’s about saying: “I don’t like this. I hate this. But I’m still here.”
And that? That is strength.

At the end of the day, life will keep being unpredictable.
It will bring both joy. And heartbreak.
And we may never fully understand why some things happen the way they do.

But we can still choose to keep going.
We can still choose to live.
Even when life isn’t fair.

Because it’s not about what happens.
It’s about who we become in the process.