On My Knees, But Still Climbing

There are days when I feel like I’m carrying the weight of the world on my back — and still, the world keeps adding more. The passing of my mother cracked something inside me that I don’t think will ever be whole again. I’m preparing for her services, trying to hold myself together, trying to be strong for everyone else while inside I feel like I’m breaking apart.

I accepted a per diem job that’s far out of the way — not because it’s ideal, but because I need it. I’m still waiting to hear back from other interviews, stuck in that cruel limbo where hope and anxiety live side by side.

And in the middle of it all, I’m still expected to be everything. A father. A husband. A friend. A brother. A companion. A handyman. A cook. A caretaker. “Mr. Mom.” There’s no off switch. No pause button. The world doesn’t stop spinning just because your heart is broken.

I spend most nights on my knees — praying I don’t lose my mind while trying so desperately to change it. Praying for strength. For peace. For the courage to keep climbing even when the mountain feels endless. Because deep down, I know this climb isn’t just about me. It’s about the people who depend on me. It’s about the promise I made to myself to become more than my circumstances.

I won’t pretend I have it all figured out. I don’t. I’m tired. I’m grieving. I’m unsure. But I also know this: I’ve been in the dark before, and I’ve always found my way out. This time will be no different.

So if you’re reading this and you feel like life is piling more on your shoulders than you can possibly carry — I see you. I understand you. And I want you to know: being on your knees doesn’t mean you’re weak. It means you’re still in the fight. And as long as you’re still fighting, you’re still climbing.

Closing Reflection: My Prayer on the Climb

Tonight, as I sit here with everything weighing on my shoulders — grief, responsibility, uncertainty — I remind myself of one simple truth: God hasn’t brought me this far to leave me here.

I whisper a prayer, not just for strength, but for peace. Peace to accept what I can’t control. Peace to keep moving forward even when I don’t have all the answers. And peace to trust that even this season — this storm — has a purpose.

I ask God to guide my steps when I can’t see the path. To hold my heart together when it feels like it’s falling apart. To remind me that even if I stumble, I am not broken. Even if I cry, I am not weak. Even if I pause, I am not done.

This climb isn’t easy. It never was meant to be. But I know with every prayer I whisper, every tear I shed, and every step I take — I’m getting closer to becoming who I was meant to be.

And so, I rise again tomorrow. Maybe with tired legs, maybe with a heavy heart. But I rise. Because this is my story. This is The Climb.

✨ Dedication

For my mother — the strength that shaped me, the faith that steadied me, and the love that still carries me higher. Every step I take on this climb is because of you.