Fog-Walk Between Worlds

This morning, the fog came in low, dense, wet, and indifferent.
The kind of fog that softens the edges of everything, even pain.
The kind that doesn’t care what you’re carrying.

I’ve walked through despair.
Not the poetic kind. The real kind.
The kind that makes waking up feel like punishment.
The kind that asks, every morning, why stay?
And the only answer I could ever give was:
Because I haven’t tried everything yet.

Today, I didn’t go out to heal.
I went out because I needed to move.
Movement is the only prayer my body understands.
Sitting still too long lets the fog come inside.

And out there, in that wind it was cold,
but clean, and I felt something shift.
Not joy. Not peace. But presence.
The kind that sneaks in sideways
when you stop trying so hard.

I didn’t find clarity.
I didn’t find hope.
I found the next step.
And sometimes, that’s enough.

* * *

→ related: Loving Yourself Enough

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*Peer reflection, not therapy advice. Your healing journey is uniquely yours.*