Today, everything felt heavy.
The kind of heavy that settles in your bones,
the kind that makes even simple things feel too far away.
I woke up tired and went to sleep tired in my head long before the day even ended.

There was a moment this afternoon
when I almost stopped.
Not physically —
but inside.
That quiet kind of stopping,
when your soul whispers,
“I can’t carry this anymore.”

I sat down for a second.
Just a second.
Long enough to hear the silence.
Long enough to feel how thin my strength had become.

And then…
something very small happened.
Nothing dramatic, nothing bright.
Just a tiny shift —
like a breath I didn’t know I was holding finally letting go.

It wasn’t energy.
It wasn’t clarity.
It wasn’t hope.

It was simply… enough.
Enough to uncurl my fingers,
enough to put weight back into my feet,
enough to stand up again
even though nothing around me had changed.

And I took one step.
Just one.
Not toward anything big or brave —
just forward.
Just away from the place where I almost stopped.

Maybe that’s all healing is sometimes:
not rising like fire,
not breaking free,
not becoming fearless.

Maybe it’s this —
one small step taken quietly
by someone who thought they had nothing left.

A step so soft the world doesn’t notice,
but your heart does.
Because it knows:
you stayed.
You continued.
You didn’t disappear.

Sometimes, one step is enough
to keep the tunnel from swallowing the light completely.

Sometimes, one step
is the light.