The Warrior’s Rest

Dear Delyara, They call me strong because I don't cry. They call me a rock because I handle everything for everyone else—the bills, the kids, the work, the noise. But even a rock eventually weathers into sand. I am tired of being the one who holds it all together while I am falling apart in private. Tonight, I put down the sword. I sat at this desk and admitted that I am exhausted. I wrote about the weight of expectations and the fear that if I stop moving for one second, everything will crumble. The sanctuary didn't ask me to be brave. It just asked me to be honest. I poured my fatigue into the letter, and as the pen moved, I felt my armor finally slip off my shoulders. I can finally just be a person again.