When the Waves Match the Day

Between cyclone weather, flare-ups, the unexpected and then news that stops you in your tracks — forever 18.

Some days don’t just test you; they unravel you.

Grief doesn’t arrive quietly. It crashes in, uninvited, pulling old memories up with it. The kind you thought you had neatly packed away. The kind tied to family, to dysfunction, to versions of yourself you’ve worked so hard to outgrow.

And just like that, you’re not only feeling today, but you’re also feeling everything.

It’s strange how life works. How one moment can hold so much weight, and the next still expects you to keep moving. There’s no pause button. No time-out to process it all neatly. Just this quiet understanding that sometimes, you have to trust the process… even when it feels anything but kind.

Today was heavy.

Emotionally, physically one of those days where everything feels loud inside you.So, I did the only thing that made sense in the middle of it all.

I picked up the kids, my grandson, and we went to the beach.

No big plan. No deep intention. Just movement. Just getting out.

And standing there, watching the ocean it was like looking at everything I was feeling, reflected right back at me.

The waves were rough.
Loud.
Unpredictable.
Relentless.

There was no calm, no stillness just constant motion.

And I realised that’s exactly what today felt like.

We talk so much about healing like it’s supposed to be peaceful. Soft. Quiet. Controlled.

But this is healing too.

The messy days.
The overwhelming moments.
The grief that resurfaces.
The triggers that remind you where you’ve been.

Healing isn’t always calm waters.
Sometimes it’s standing in the middle of the storm, learning you can still breathe.

Sometimes it’s showing up for your kids when your heart feels heavy.
Sometimes it’s letting the waves crash without trying to control them.
Sometimes it’s simply making it through the day.

There’s no perfect way to navigate days like this.

No checklist.
No “right” response.

Just small choices.
Moment by moment.

Get out of the house.
Feel the air on your skin.
Let your body exist somewhere outside the weight of your thoughts.

And if all you can do is stand there and watch the chaos that’s enough.

Because here’s the truth we don’t talk about enough:

Not everything has to feel okay to be part of your healing.

Not everything has to make sense for you to trust where you are.

Some days will feel like those waves crashing, loud, overwhelming.

But they pass.
They always pass.

And even in their intensity, they remind you of something important:

You’re still here.
Still standing.
Still moving through it.

Even when it’s messy.