The Day I Almost Gave Up (And Why I Didn’t)

It was a Tuesday. Nothing dramatic. Just a series of small, crushing things. My son refused to eat again. The therapy call was canceled. My house smelled like vinegar and desperation. And when I opened the fridge, the only thing inside was expired probiotics and almond flour. I sat on the floor and said, I can’t do this anymore. But then—he came. My boy. With his mismatched socks and crooked smile. He reached for my hand, just for a second. And in that moment, I remembered: I’m not here to fix everything. I’m here to love him through it. That was enough to rise again. So how do I find peace? Some days it’s magnesium baths and chamomile tea. Other days it’s a Rosary in the dark while pacing the hallway. But mostly—it’s remembering that God is still in the room, even when I’m falling apart in it. Peace isn’t perfection. It’s permission—to rest, to trust, and to start again.