Lately, I’ve been carrying the weight of depression. It’s not something that lifts with a snap of the fingers, and it doesn’t care much for willpower. Some days it feels like grinding forward through liquid concrete: slow, heavy, exhausting.

But I’ve learned something important: pushing through doesn’t always mean sprinting or producing. Sometimes it means simply showing up. Reaching out when the instinct is to shut down. Letting yourself breathe when the pressure says “keep going.” Admitting, even publicly, that things are hard instead of hiding it away.

That’s why I’m stepping back from writing for a bit. Not because I’ve lost the desire, but because right now I need to respect the limits of my own strength. Writing has always been about honesty for me, and honesty means acknowledging when I don’t have all the words yet.

Depression is heavy, and it’s real. And if you’ve ever felt like you’re moving through concrete yourself, I want you to know you’re not alone. Sometimes survival is the work. And sometimes the bravest thing we can do is admit we need space to heal.

I’ll be back to writing when I can stand on steadier ground. Until then, thank you for your patience, your kindness, and for walking with me… even when the pace slows.