Forgive

My War Is a Silent One

On the hardest season, and the choice to keep swimming

My mind is whirling with all of the attacks. Disappointment, criticism, anger, apathy, grief — I can see it in your expressions. There are so many of you.

It would be better if I just got off at the next stop. I’m not capable of being on the same team. I lack the drive to finish. I lack the strength to even stand. When I am still, I can feel my body trembling.

The struggle inside, no one knows. The mental battle going on, it cannot be seen. The pain in my heart from years of disappointment — the heaviness of it is unnoticed by the passerby.

Shutting out the world numbs the pain for a moment, but the reminders from the past only bury it deeper still.

Such a failure as a human being. A failure in so many ways I cannot begin to make a list.

Crawling, at times, just to get my family to church. We are late. I see the looks of judgment. My husband kisses me on my temple and whispers, “I’m proud of you. You are here.”

As I sit in the chair, I can feel my body trembling. I am struggling to hold myself upright. The weight of my five-month-old is too heavy for me to carry, so I pass her to my husband to hold. The tears keep falling until the end of the class.

My husband walks me to the next class. He stays with me in the hallway and helps me stand as we wait to go in. A good friend gives me a hug, and the tears fall freely.

It would have been easier to stay home. Easier not to work through the pain. My pain would have been less noticed if I had simply stayed home.

But just like a hard workout for the body, I came home from church exhausted — mentally, emotionally. It was a good workout. Those spiritual muscles burned. Good job.

My husband, and God, and one dear friend were the only ones who knew the struggle. My war is a silent one.

It feels like I am swimming upstream against a strong current. I may only be holding my place — but at least I am not being swept downstream and out to sea. And so I keep swimming, despite the pain.

I choose to live.

I choose to forgive.

I choose to laugh.

And I choose to love.

Gratitude.

— Steffanie

A note from me, today

I wrote this years ago, in one of the darkest seasons of my life. I’m still here, and I’m so glad I am. If you recognize yourself in these words — if you are a new mom, or simply someone carrying a silent war — please hear me: you are not a failure, and you are not alone. Reaching out is not weakness. It is one of the bravest, strongest things a person can do.

If you need someone right now, call or text 988 (the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline) any time, day or night.

If you’re a new or expecting mom, the National Maternal Mental Health Hotline offers free, confidential, 24/7 support in English and Spanish — call or text 1-833-852-6262. Postpartum Support International can also connect you with help at 1-800-944-4773 (call or text) or postpartum.net.

This post shares my personal experience and is offered for encouragement, not as medical or mental-health advice. It is not intended to diagnose or treat any condition. If you are struggling, please reach out to a qualified professional or one of the resources above — you deserve support and care.