Some days, the weight is quieter. Other days, it grabs you by the shoulders the moment your feet hit the floor. That’s the thing about grief, stress, trauma—they don’t follow a schedule, and they sure as hell don’t wait for you to be ready.
What I’ve come to realize is that healing doesn’t always look like sitting down and “processing.” Sometimes, healing shows up when you least expect it—out on a muddy trail with your kid, eating ice cream in the front seat of your adventure van, or laughing around the campfire even when your heart still feels heavy.
Family time has become one of my most powerful survival tools. It’s not just about being with them—it’s about being pulled into the present moment. My son doesn’t care what headline hit today, or what mental load I’m dragging around. He wants to throw the baseball, build a fort, chase waves, or talk about the stars. And in those moments, my mind is forced to loosen its grip on the things that haunt me. Even for a little while.
And that little while? That’s where healing finds its opening.
We’re wired to push through. To stay strong. And there’s honor in that grit—but there’s also danger in never stepping back. I’ve learned that finding excuses—yes, actual excuses—to disconnect from the heaviness isn’t weakness. It’s strategy. It’s survival. It’s oxygen when your world feels like it’s underwater.
You don’t have to earn rest. You don’t need permission to feel joy while you’re still holding pain. These things can coexist. And often, they must.
So here’s my challenge to you: find your excuse. Take the long way home. Say yes to that fishing trip, even if the to-do list says no and the grass is getting long. Watch the movie your kids want to watch. Go for the hike. Let yourself be distracted—on purpose. Give your mind the room to breathe so your spirit has oxygen to heal.
We’re not meant to carry it all, all the time.
And if you’re reading this thinking, “Yeah, but you don’t know what I’m carrying”—you’re right. But I do know this: you’re not alone, and you’re not broken. You’re human. And sometimes the best medicine is simply stepping into a moment that reminds you you’re still alive, still capable of joy, and still worthy of peace.
Keep going. But don’t forget to pause.
Photo by Rad Pozniakov
