I Cried Successfully Today
Fog of Hope Fog of Hope

I Cried Successfully Today

This morning I woke up and did what I always do now: I reread the notes about my life. The big reminders. The checklist of what I need to know to be successful each day. I studied them like they were instructions for a job I used to know how to do without thinking. Because they are. Even with them, they still often are not enough to be ‘successful’ each day.

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Manure, Sweat, and Surrender
Fog of Hope Fog of Hope

Manure, Sweat, and Surrender

Today I stepped outside with every intention of being useful. Just a simple chore—shoveling manure on our small farm. Something I used to be able to do for hours without thinking twice. Five minutes. That’s all it took today.

My arms burned. My legs turned to lead. The world started spinning. A pounding headache slammed into my skull. Sweat poured down my forehead, stinging my eyes, dripping off my face, soaking my shirt until it clung to my back like a second skin. And it was only 75 degrees outside. Not even hot by most standards.

I had to stop. Had to sit down, head between my knees, waiting for the dizziness to pass. Once again, my body had issued a hard stop I never asked for.

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