💔 When Love Feels Invisible

Today, I was reminded how fragile self-worth can feel in the face of judgment. A woman and her son came to view the home I’ve been living in—the one I’ve tried so hard to keep up while grieving, working, and trying to survive. But to them, it looked like clutter. The little boy—no older than eight—said he couldn’t imagine living here. The landlord was also upset about the weeds. Weeds that my husband, Mark, used to pull without anyone asking. Weeds my mother took pride in clearing, even after her stroke.

They didn’t see the memories in the corners or the boxes that hadn’t been unpacked—because the grief hadn’t been unwrapped yet.

Sometimes I wonder if we should wear signs that say:
I have a bad SI joint and can’t lift heavy objects or bend over easily.
My arms ache when I hold them up or out too long.
I’ve had many surgeries and injuries.
I live with arthritis, nerve damage, and exhaustion from working hard and not sleeping.

Those are the physical limitations—the ones you might notice if you know me well.
But what about the invisible ones?

PTSD. DID. Depression. Anxiety.
These don’t show up in photographs or when someone glances around a room. But they’re real. They shape who I am. They influence what I can do on any given day.

They didn’t see me.

🕯️ A Grief-Filled Home Still Holds Love

As I sat in that silent house after they left, I couldn’t stop thinking: Have I failed? Am I not enough? I’ve been awake now for nearly 26 hours, my mind spinning in circles, trying to figure out how to do better, be more, keep going.

But then I read today’s Healing After Loss passage. And it reminded me that even in our sorrow—even in our exhaustion—we still have love to give. Even when we feel unseen or unloved by others, we are not emptied of love itself.

Love remains.

🪻Reaching Out When You’re Running Low

Grief can feel like a wall—thick, heavy, and isolating. But love? Love flows through walls. It can seep through silence. It can wrap itself around people who don’t understand us, and still find its way home.

I’ve been worried about my son Bryce, too. He has such a high IQ, but lately, he seems paralyzed—either lazy or overwhelmed. I’m not even sure which. But love nudges me to keep showing up. To keep inviting him to the table of healing, even if he doesn’t yet know how to sit at it.

🌱 You Are Not What They See

If you’re reading this and feeling judged, overlooked, or like the weight of your world is more than you can carry—please know this: You are not what they see. You are what you’ve survived. You are what you’ve loved. You are what you keep trying to heal.

Hell, Madame, is to love no longer.

But you still love. You still try. And that alone makes you worthy.