You’re Allowed to Be Tired

Life happens—wherever you are, however you are.
It doesn’t wait for your permission.
It doesn’t need you to be ready.
It moves, swirls, knocks, and dances, with or without your approval.
You can try to resist it, deny it, or even sleep through it—but it still hums forward, like a slightly drunk parade you didn’t ask to join.
And that’s okay.

There’s nothing wrong with wanting peace.
With dreaming of soft mornings, quiet laughter, a calm kitchen, and a little corner of joy you can call your own.
Don’t let anyone tell you that you must always be in battle mode.
Yes, life is chaotic.
Yes, entropy is the only constant—like a toddler with glitter and no supervision.
But peace isn’t weakness. It’s a kind of wisdom.

Now listen—this part is important:
You must never give in to despair.
Because once you let yourself slide too far down that road, you begin to believe that the slide is who you are.
But it’s not.
It’s just a moment.
A heavy one, sure. But still a moment.
In the darkest times, hope isn’t something that shows up from the outside.
It’s something you give yourself.
Like a match in your pocket you forgot was there.

That’s what inner strength really is.

So take a breath and ask yourself—
What do I actually want from my life?
And why?
Not the answer you inherited, not the one shaped by fear or someone else’s script.
Trace it back.
Beyond the fear.
Beyond the shame.

And about shame—let’s talk.
Because it sticks to everything like emotional duct tape.
People say, “Be proud of yourself!”
But here’s the twist: pride isn’t the opposite of shame.
Pride is often where shame hides when it’s dressed up for a party.
The real antidote?
Humility.
Not the kind that means shrinking or apologizing for existing.
I mean the kind where you learn not to take yourself too seriously.
Where you can laugh at your mistakes, cry without embarrassment, and slowly stop believing that your worth depends on perfection.
Let go of what you can’t control.
Let go of the idea that your pain makes you weak.
You’re allowed to be healing and still whole.

And no—doing everything alone isn’t a virtue.
There’s nothing wrong with needing people.
There’s nothing weak about letting someone love you.
The people who care aren’t here to drag you out of your struggle or to fix you.
They’re just there—on the shoreline—
holding up a little lantern,
so that when you decide to look up,
you’ll know where you are.

Sometimes life really is like a dark tunnel.
There’s no map. No signposts. No IKEA exit arrows.
You can’t always see the light at the end.

But if you keep moving,
step by step—
even on the days when you're only shuffling—
you will come to a better place.
That’s not wishful thinking.
That’s momentum.
That’s physics.
That’s you.

So look for the light.
Not because darkness isn’t real,
but because light is stubborn—
it hides in odd corners, in kind words, in silly dreams, in quiet hope.

If you look for the light, you’ll often find it.
But if you look only for the dark,
that’s all you’ll ever see.

And you?
You deserve more than darkness.

So keep going.
We’ll be here,
on the shoreline,
holding that little light
until you're ready to look again.

Sega
______________________________________________

The Lantern Song

Life barges in like a loud parade,
drops glitter in your lemonade.
You hunt for maps; the world says “nope,”
then “hey” your pocket finds a match called Hope.

Peace pours tea while chaos tap,
and a toddler with glitter sits on your lap.
Pride wears shame’s too-fancy clothes;
then humility laughs and lets it go.

Keep walking the tunnel, step by step,
the light is stubborn, small, well-kept.
Look up: we’re waving from the shore,
lanterns high—till you need us no more.