The quiet moments lately, they’ve been a lot about remembering. Thinking back to times I truly thought I couldn't get through. Honestly, some days felt like wading through thick mud, every step a real effort. But then, you just… keep going. Something inside pushes you. It's not always a big, brave push. Sometimes it’s just a tiny, stubborn refusal to give up. And I see that now, looking back. The little victories, the unexpected strength. It wasn't about being fearless, I don’t think. More about finding faith, even when it felt thin. Believing that somehow, a way would open up. And it often did. Not always how I expected, never perfectly. But enough. It gives me hope for whatever comes next, for the next mud puddle. Because if I made it through then, maybe, just maybe, I can make it through again. There’s comfort in that thought.