This Is Where I Start Being Honest

Today I finally started this. Komugisa. These quiet pages where I can say the things I don’t say out loud to anyone. I don’t know who will find them or if they’ll even matter, but keeping it all inside was starting to feel heavier than the silence I’ve been carrying. So here I am, typing with tired fingers, pausing every few lines because the words get stuck sometimes.

I’ve been in this season for what feels like forever now. The prayers have become so short and worn out. Most nights I just whisper the same thing: “I’m still here, God.” Nothing fancy. No big declarations of faith. Just that. And then the silence answers back, the way it always does lately. I try not to let it shake me, but some mornings it does. I pretend I’m fine when my mum calls. I reply to friends with “Doing well!” and a heart emoji, then put the phone face down and feel the emptiness rush back in.

If you’re reading this right now and something in your chest just tightened... I see you. I know what it’s like to be in the middle of normal life but feel completely disconnected from it. Going through the motions at work, smiling when people expect it, eating your food without tasting much. All while inside you’re wondering how long this waiting is going to last. How long until the heaviness lifts even a little.

Last night was bad. I lay in bed overthinking everything again, the same loop playing in my head. What if nothing changes? What if this is just how it is now? I opened my Bible for a few minutes but the words felt far away, like they were written for someone else. I closed it and just stared at the ceiling, letting the tears come without sound. No dramatic breakdown. Just quiet leaking. Then I wiped my face, turned over, and tried to sleep while my mind kept whispering that maybe I’m doing something wrong. Maybe my faith isn’t strong enough for this kind of silence.

 I wonder why I even decided to write publicly like this. It feels vulnerable in a way that makes my stomach twist. But there’s also this small part of me that hopes if I put it out there, maybe someone else won’t feel so alone tonight when they’re lying in their own bed, phone glowing in the dark, heart too tired to pray anything meaningful. Maybe you’ll read this and breathe a little easier knowing it’s not just you carrying this quiet exhaustion. This loneliness that shows up even when your life looks full on the outside.

I'm not here to say it gets better soon. I don’t know that. I’m just here, still showing up on heavy mornings. Still making my tea even when I don’t feel like drinking it. Still whispering those small, worn-out prayers that seem to disappear into the air. Still believing, even if my belief feels thin and shaky right now.

Some evenings I sit on the edge of my bed after work, shoes still on, and just exist there for a while. No music. No talking to God with nice words. Just sitting with the weight. And that’s okay. Or at least, it’s where I am.

I don’t have answers today. I don’t even have beautiful reflections. Just this honest mess. The beginning of something I needed to start, even if it’s imperfect and slow.

If this is where you are too... I’m right here with you in it. Not ahead of you. Not fixing anything. Just here. Still going, even when it’s this quiet.

Maybe that’s enough for now.

I’m still here.