The Things That Waited for Me

There have been seasons of my life when simply getting through the day required everything I had.

During those seasons, writing was often one of the first things to disappear.

Not because I stopped loving it.

Not because I stopped believing in it.

Because survival has a way of narrowing our focus.

When you’re trying to keep your head above water, even the things that nourish you can drift out of reach.

For a long time, I thought that meant I had failed.

I thought every absence erased my place.

I thought every unfinished project was proof that I lacked discipline, commitment, or talent.

I thought that if I stepped away for too long, the things I loved would move on without me.

What I’ve learned instead is that some things don’t keep score.

The work waits.

The dream waits.

The healing waits.

And sometimes, if we’re very lucky, a lantern waits too.

There were years when I thought I had lost parts of myself.

The writer.

The dreamer.

The woman who believed she could create something meaningful.

The woman who imagined books, articles, projects, and possibilities.

Life became heavy.

Pain became constant.

Loss arrived more often than I thought a heart could bear.

There were surgeries and setbacks.

Grief and disappointment.

Fear and uncertainty.

And more than once, I wondered if the version of me who once dreamed so freely was gone forever.

But she wasn’t.

She was waiting.

Quietly.

Patiently.

Not demanding explanations.

Not asking for apologies.

Simply waiting for me to return.

The older I get, the more I realize that healing is often less about becoming someone new and more about finding our way back to ourselves.

Back to the parts of us that never truly disappeared.

Back to the things we loved before life became complicated.

Back to the dreams that still flicker beneath the exhaustion.

Back to the voice that has been whispering all along.

I used to believe that every interruption meant starting over.

Now I see it differently.

The story was never over.

There were simply chapters I had not finished reading yet.

Today, I find myself building things I once thought I had lost.

A website.

A community.

A book.

A collection of lanterns for people who have forgotten their own light.

And perhaps the most beautiful part is that none of these things demanded perfection before welcoming me back.

They simply waited.

Patient as old friends.

Steady as porch lights.

Faithful as the moon returning after a cloudy night.

Maybe you need to hear that too.

Maybe there is something in your life that you miss.

A dream.

A passion.

A piece of yourself.

Maybe you’ve been gone from it for months.

Or years.

Maybe you’ve convinced yourself that too much time has passed.

That you’ve missed your chance.

That you have to start from the beginning.

I don’t think that’s true.

I think some things wait.

I think some dreams are more patient than we realize.

I think some parts of ourselves never stop hoping we’ll come home.

And when we do, they don’t greet us with judgment.

They greet us with recognition.

As if to say:

“There you are.

I’ve been waiting.”

So if there is something calling you back today, perhaps you don’t need to have all the answers.

Perhaps you don’t need a perfect plan.

Perhaps you only need the courage to take one small step toward it.

The work may still be waiting.

The dream may still be waiting.

The healing may still be waiting.

And if you’re very lucky, you may discover that the light never left at all.

It was simply waiting for you to see it again.ĺ