Things were already heavy.

The kind of heavy
that settles into your chest
before your feet ever touch the floor.

Every month felt tighter.
Every dollar stretched thinner.
Every plan carried an asterisk
and a warning label.

But I could live with that.

Because there was always one thing
I could count on.

Effort.

When life pushed,
I pushed harder.

When the road steepened,
I leaned forward.

When fear knocked,
I answered with work.

That was the bargain.

The world could throw whatever it wanted at me,
but it could never stop me
from giving more.

Until it did.

Not through failure.
Not through weakness.
Not because I stopped showing up.

A gate simply appeared
where there hadn’t been one before.

And suddenly the thing
I had always trusted most
was no longer mine to give.

That is a strange kind of helplessness.

To have strength
with nowhere to spend it.

To have determination
with no place to aim it.

To stand ready for battle
and be told to lower your sword.

I keep hearing people talk about rest
as if it’s a gift.

But rest is not a gift
when it arrives uninvited.

Not when worry sits beside it.

Not when your mind keeps wandering
to all the things waiting to be paid,
fixed,
built,
or saved.

The truth is,
I wasn’t asking for comfort.

I wasn’t asking for ease.

I only wanted the chance
to carry my share.

To work.
To provide.
To keep moving forward.

Instead,
I’m standing at a locked gate,
staring through the bars,
watching the path continue without me.

And for the first time in a long while,

I don’t feel tired from the climb.

I feel tired

from being unable to climb at all.