Here We Go Again… Choosing to Wake Up Anyway

I woke up this morning and the first thing I felt was… blah. No fireworks, no motivation, no “I’m ready to conquer the world.” Just that familiar heaviness that sits in your chest and whispers, here we go again.

Sometimes it feels like life moves faster than my spirit can keep up with. I open my eyes and before I even blink twice, the world is already asking me to show up — to care, to give, to listen, to love, to perform, to be strong. And honestly? Some mornings I don’t feel ready. Some mornings I want to stay under the covers and hide from my own emotions.

But then, in the quiet stillness of my room, before my phone starts buzzing and life starts demanding things from me, something softer makes itself known.

I GET TO WAKE UP.

I get to open my eyes in a warm bed. A safe bed. A bed that held me through heartbreaks, long nights, exhaustion, joy, and all the mornings where I didn’t think I could possibly do one more day. That alone is a gift — one my younger self would’ve prayed for.

I get to go to work. Not everyone can say that. Not everyone has purpose to wake up for, people to help, children to protect, families to support, a community that looks to me with trust and love. That is not something to take lightly. It’s sacred. It’s meaningful.

I get to text the people I love and tell them I appreciate them. I get to send my dad a “Good morning,” I get to remind my friends that I’m thinking of them, I get to say “I miss you,” “I’m proud of you,” “You matter.” That is not mundane — that is privilege. Some people don’t have a circle to text. Some people have lost the ones they’d give anything for another message from.

I get to see the sunrise today if I decide to look up. I get to feel the cold bite of morning air on my face. I get to decide if I want my coffee sweet or strong or both. I get to live slowly if I want to. I get to breathe on my own. I get to try again.

I don’t have to do these things — I GET to.

And those two words change everything.

Because the truth is, my life today would have shocked the version of me who used to cry on the bathroom floor, or who didn’t think peace was possible, or who felt like she was surviving more than living. She would have looked at my life now — my purpose, the people who love me, the sunrise through my window, the coffee in my cup — and whispered, “You made it. Don’t forget to feel it.”

So here I am, feeling it.

Not the perfect, polished gratitude that we sometimes post online — but the messy, tired, real-life gratitude that sits with the blah feelings and says:

Yes, I’m exhausted.

Yes, I’m overwhelmed.

Yes, I’d like one more hour of sleep.

But I still get to be here.

I get to keep going in a world that once made me question if I could.

I get to grow, even on days where it feels like I’m shrinking.

I get to love deeper than before, because life taught me how fragile it is.

I get to show up for myself, not because I feel like it every morning, but because I’ve earned the right to be someone who keeps trying.

And maybe that’s the lesson today:

You don’t have to love every morning to still honor it.

You don’t have to wake up energized to still be grateful.

You don’t have to feel inspired to still be worthy of the life you’ve built.

Some mornings are magical. Some mornings are survival. And most mornings are somewhere in between — where the gratitude isn’t fireworks, it’s quiet and slow and hidden beneath everything you’re carrying.

But I promise you: it’s still there.

If you take one slow breath today… you’ll feel it.

If you sip your coffee and let yourself taste the warmth instead of rushing to the next thing… you’ll feel it.

If you remind one person that they matter to you… you’ll feel it.

If you whisper a thank you for the bed that held your body and the heart that kept beating through the night… you’ll feel it.

Life isn’t always loud in its beauty. Sometimes it’s subtle. Sometimes you have to lean in to notice it.

So today — even with my tired eyes and my heavy morning — I’m choosing to be deeply, overwhelmingly grateful for the simple fact that I GET to live this day.

Not because it’s perfect.

But because it’s mine.

And I’m here for all of it.