Some mornings I wake up feeling strong, like I can take on anything. On those days, I move through my to do list with a sense of purpose. I check things off one by one, laundry, school lessons, dinner prep and it makes me feel accomplished. In those moments, I remember why I love being a mother, a wife, a writer, and a homeschool mom. I wouldn’t trade this life for anything. But there are also days when the weight of it all feels like it’s pressing down on my chest, making it hard to breathe.

There are times when the stress, the pain, and the constant worry are louder than everything else. My faith in God is steady, but my spirit feels fragile. Watching my boys slowly lose abilities because of Duchenne muscular dystrophy breaks something inside me. No mother should have to see her children’s strength fade away day by day. They depend on my husband and me for everything, things that other kids take for granted. They get frustrated with their own bodies, and I have no way to make it better. That helplessness is the hardest part.
I remind myself often that God has a plan, even when I can’t make sense of it. I believe suffering has meaning, that one day it will all be made clear in Heaven. I’ve given my life to God, but the truth is, I still wrestle with handing Him all of my pain. My life is full of blessings, joyful children, a husband who loves me deeply, family and friends who care for us, but at the same time, I feel like I’m drowning in sorrow I can’t escape. It’s a strange mix of gratitude and grief.

Every day feels like a race against time. My boys need a cure, or at least a treatment, before it’s too late. Saying those words out loud is almost impossible it feels like if I speak them, I’ll collapse under the weight of them. My mind is constantly caught between joy and sorrow. Anxiety and depression knock at my door daily, but I also feel God’s presence reminding me to keep moving forward, to fight another day.

Then there are days, like today, when the sadness wins. This morning, I threw myself a pity party, no streamers or cake, just a cup of coffee and a flood of tears. I let myself scream into a pillow, beg for a different reality, and cry until I was empty. Then, when there was nothing left, I fell to my knees and prayed.

Afterward, I wiped my face, took a deep breath, and told myself what I always do: tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow, I’ll find my strength again. Tomorrow, I’ll focus on one task at a time instead of carrying the whole mountain on my shoulders. I’ll laugh with my children, kiss my husband, and remind my loved ones how much they mean to me. I know tomorrow I’ll feel a little lighter, I just need to hold on long enough to get there.
Today, God sent me comfort in the most unexpected way. A dear friend reached out with a message that landed right when I needed it most. She shared a verse from Isaiah 40:29-31: “He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.” Her words felt like they came straight from God’s hands to my heart.

It reminded me of something I too often forget, the burden I carry doesn’t belong to me. I keep clutching at the fear, the sorrow, the heartbreak, but none of it is mine to hold. The weight feels crushing, but it’s not mine to bear. All of it, every tear, every sleepless night, every ache in my chest, belongs at the feet of my Savior. He can carry it for me, and He promises not to let me be crushed beneath it.
So tonight, I’m placing it all in His hands again. My brokenness, my fear, my pain, I’m giving it back to Him where it belongs. And I’m asking Him to help me wake tomorrow renewed. Because tomorrow, I want to stand tall again. Tomorrow, I want to laugh, to love, and to be brave.
And tomorrow, I will be.