I was not my best today.

The weight of too many things pressed into my chest,

and the love I carry—

the love that is always there,

always steady,

felt eclipsed,

diminished

by moments I let slip through my guard.

It wasn’t their fault.

It’s never their fault.

But the pressures stacked,

work left undone,

a sleepless night,

and a thousand tiny failures

found the cracks in my patience

and came out of me

in ways I can’t take back.

I hate that.

I hate that their laughter,

their small joys,

were met with a shorter tone,

a heavy sigh.

They deserve the best of me.

And today, I gave them less.

This life isn’t what I imagined for them.

Split between places,

between routines,

between homes.

I wonder if they feel it—

the weight I carry for them,

the guilt I try to push down.

I know I’m not enough to fill the gaps,

but I try.

God, I try.

Still, they forgive me

in ways I don’t think I deserve.

Their hugs feel lighter tonight,

their goodnights softer.

Maybe they don’t notice the cracks in me,

but I do.

I see them in the mirror,

in the quiet moments after they’re asleep,

when the world quiets and my thoughts grow loud.

I was not my best today.

But tomorrow,

I will be better.

Love isn’t about perfection.

It’s about showing up again,

and again,

and again,

even when the weight feels unbearable.
Tonight the weight is unbearable.