“Every storm runs out of rain.”
But some storms—
some of them are Category 5 hurricanes.
They rage before they pass.
They leave wreckage.
They demand everything you’ve got just to stay standing.
Fortitude is standing in the spray while the ocean squalls.
It’s waking up, putting on shoes heavy with yesterday’s weight, and taking one more step forward.
It’s showing up when you want to disappear.
It’s pressing on when your soul feels like it's been hollowed out.
I’ve found kernels of fortitude, forged not in grand, cinematic moments, but in the small, hidden ones:
In the steadying breath I took before standing in front of a classroom, five minutes after being screamed at by a parent.
In every walk I took with my soul beagle—hot sun, cold wind, rain, or snow,—because love keeps its promises.
In the moment I held her as she took her last breath.
In the ache of new motherhood—stepping into a new body, a new identity while holding both my heart and my son with tenderness.
In every attempt to write when the words feel wrong, clumsy, or not enough.
These are the stories of showing up.
And sometimes that’s the bravest thing we can do.
“It is not the critic who counts... the credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena... whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood... who errs, who comes short again and again... but who strives valiantly.”
—Theodore Roosevelt
If you feel like you’re underwater, I hope you hear this:
I see you. I’m proud of you. You’re not alone.
You’re in the arena.
That matters.
You don’t have to win today.
You just have to stay.
As we plant our feet instead of running, we carry a flicker of reckless optimism.
The kind that whispers,“This storm won’t last forever.”
And tomorrow that flicker may just light the torch that illuminates the path forward.
Don’t snuff it out.
You’ve survived 100% of your hardest days.
That’s not nothing.
That’s fortitude.