Relearning How to Hope
I choose hope. As an act of will.
As a quiet, sacred defiance.
I am learning how to hope again. And I need to be honest… it hurts sometimes.
Hope hasn’t always been kind to me.
It has lifted me up only to drop me.
It has let me believe before reminding me how fragile life can be.
It has handed me something beautiful and then watched it slip through my fingers.
It has let me believe — really believe — before reminding me that nothing was guaranteed to stay.
So for a long time, hope didn’t feel brave, it felt dangerous.
And yet…
here I am, still trying.
There is a stubborn part of me that refuses to die.
A quiet, fierce part of me that keeps whispering:
“I still want love.”
“I still want goodness.”
“I still want a life that feels safe and warm and held.”
And the truth is, that stubborn hope has always lived in me.
Hope is what kept me fighting for my children when the world didn’t understand.
Hope is what kept me searching, advocating, learning, and refusing to give up for over a decade, when it would have been easier to collapse.
Hope is what carried me through nights of fear and years of uncertainty.
Hope is what make me keep standing when my heart was tired.
Hope is what finally brought me back to myself after disappearing for so long.
Hope is what reminded me my story was not over.
Hope is what told me I still deserved softness and love and a life that felt like home.
Hope is why I am still here.
Hope is now softer, wiser, shakier sometimes… but it is still defiantly alive in me.
Some days it flickers.
Some days it burns steady.
Some days it aches and shines at the same time.
But deep in my soul, I still believe:
One day, goodness will stay.
One day, love will not ask me to disappear.
One day, I will be able to rest inside something beautiful without bracing for loss.
Maybe one day hope won’t feel like fragile courage. Maybe it will feel like trust. Like grounding. Like peace.
But today, hope is my gentle rebellion.
My defiance against everything that tried to silence me or make me small and unseen.
My declaration that I still believe in love, in goodness, in a future that holds me kindly.
Today, hope is breath.
Today, hope is life.