With Trembling Hands.
Written from the middle of the heavy days – not to be pitied, but to remind you that a way out exists. Always.
This is the heaviest post on this blog, and Bella wrote it from the middle, not after: death arrived in her circle, and with it every fear stood up at once – fear of death, fear of life, fear for her husband's breathing at night, for her parents, for the child inside her.
She doesn't resolve it, and that's the honesty of it. What she holds instead is a direction: sit, breathe, be silent, give it space – and walk toward the way out, step by step. Amor Fati says the hard version of the same thing: loving your fate doesn't mean liking what happens. It means not turning away from it – because acceptance, not resignation, is where the weight starts to move.
If it's heavy for you right now, this one is for you. Trembling hands still count as walking.
🌸 If it's heavy for you right now
Life.
We live – and sometimes we don't notice certain things.
Until they're lit up for us.
You can live a whole life married, thinking you're happy,
until you see it from the outside –
and suddenly understand: all this time you were deeply unhappy.
Or the opposite – you become certain you made the right choice.
You can think you don't want children,
until your friends start giving birth –
and you realize you do.
Badly.
I had a period of panic attacks.
I was even hospitalized.
Then spent a long time coming back to myself.
The anxiety is still near –
but by now I sort of live with it.
Got used to it.
Though of course I'd like to be rid of this engulfing feeling.
My life seemed to be evening out.
Calm and a certain confidence
knocked on my door more and more often…
Until the “lighting up” came.
When death comes –
it strikes. Swings from the shoulder.
And it doesn't matter whether it's sudden or you were supposedly ready for “that news” – it deafens you all the same.
It gets frightening.
Helplessness arrives.
A wave washes over you: nothing is forever.
There is no control. We are all vulnerable.
And along with that, every fear rises.
Fear of death. Fear of life.
Fear for the people close to you.
Fear for yourself.
At night I listen for whether my husband is breathing beside me.
I check on my parents constantly.
I worry about how the child inside me is feeling.
I feel nauseous.
I feel awful inside.
I feel weak.
I'm a little stuck.
But I know – soon there's a session with my psychiatrist.
I know – I'll sit down and breathe. Be silent.
Try to connect with the universe.
Give myself space.
For now it's simply heavy.
I'm not writing this to be pitied.
I'm writing to remind you –
sometimes it gets very frightening.
Unbearable. It seems there's no way out. That you're stuck.
But there is one. Always.
The main thing is to walk toward it.
Step by step.
Even with trembling hands.
Thank you for reading.
If her words reached somewhere mine don't – good. That's what this blog is for. Take what fits and leave the rest.
– Jan