Some chapters of life aren't tidy.  They don't resolve on the last page or leave you with something neat to hold onto.  They're messy.  Ongoing.  And often full of choices you never wanted to make.

Right now, I'm in one of those chapters.

For a long time, I pushed through my depression, anxiety, and PTSD—because we're taught that's what strong people do.  You show up.  You don't complain.  You keep moving, even when it hurts.

But then something happened that I couldn't push through.

Over time, I began experiencing symptoms that affected my vision—blurry patches, pressure behind my eyes, things that worsened whenever I pushed myself too hard.  Eventually, it becomes impossible to ignore.  I'm now undergoing testing for a condition called IIH—Idiopathic Intracranial Hypertension.  It mimics a brain tumor but isn't one.  There's been MRIs, CT scans, lumbar punctures—everything to rule out what it might be.  And while I wait, I can't work because the risk of losing my vision is too high.

My husband—he's been incredible.  After nearly a decade at Lowe's, he was able to switch to full-time, and because he's the only one trained for installation coordination's, they've allowed him to keep a set schedule.  That kind of consistency is rare in retail, and vital for our autistic son, who depends on routine.

But even with that grace, things are hard.

We've had to strip everything back.  Cancel subscriptions.  Pause anything that isn't essential.  Bills pile up faster than we can pay them—rent, utilities, car payments, credit cards.  Sometimes we're juggling due dates like a math equation, just trying to keep the lights on.

And no, stories don't pay the bills.

Not yet.  Not when you're a new author, unknown, still fighting for visibility in a sea of voices.  But I keep writing.  Not because it fixes everything, but because it gives me something no diagnosis or bill collector can take away: a sense of purpose.

So if you're out there, trying to hold your world together while it frays at the seams—I see you.

You are not lazy for honoring your limits.  You are not weak for resting.  And you are not wrong for clinging to your dreams, even when the world tells you to grow up and move on.

This isn't the chapter I asked for.

But maybe, just maybe, it's the one that shapes everything that comes next.