Yesterday my intention card read. (Yes I pull intention cards now)

Slow progress is still progress. I am doing the best I can.

Not exactly groundbreaking advice. Not some big, life changing quote. But for some reason, it landed differently this time.

Because lately I’ve been tired of feeling like I should be further along in this.

Tomorrow marks six months since she passed.

SIX MONTHS.

It sounds both impossibly long and unfairly short. Long enough that life has kept moving. Short enough that my heart still reacts like it just happened yesterday.

Sometimes time feels warped. Like everything is speeding by while I’m standing still inside it. And if I sit with that number too long, if I really let it land, I can feel the ache all over again.

That day changed me in ways I’m still discovering.

I’m softer now. Slower. More aware.
And honestly? More emotional than I’ve ever been.

Which brings me to something I don’t always admit.

Sometimes I feel like a broken record.

Especially here.

It feels repetitive, like I keep circling the same feelings instead of moving past them.

But that’s grief.

Grief doesn’t move in straight lines. It doesn’t check boxes and disappear. It spirals.

You come back to the same memories, the same ache, the same questions. Just from a slightly different place each time. You think you’ve made peace with something, and then it returns, softer or sharper, asking to be felt again.

Each day I’m just moving through the spiral.

And lately, the only way I know how to picture that movement is this: sewing.

Each day I pick up the needle and try to mend this tear in my heart.

Some days I make real progress. A few strong, steady stitches that actually hold.

Other days I barely have the energy to thread the needle.

And some days I just sit there with everything in my lap, not ready to touch it at all.

But even that is part of it.

Because stitching isn’t one long straight line either. The thread loops in and out, in and out, circling back on itself to pull the fabric together.

It’s slow. Uneven. A little messy. The seams show. The edges don’t line up perfectly.

It’s not meant to look brand new.

It’s meant to hold.

Maybe every time I sound like a broken record, I’m not repeating myself, I’m just looping the thread through one more time. Reinforcing the same spot. Adding one small stitch. One more bit of strength where the tear used to be.

Needle in. Needle out.
One stitch at a time.

Slow progress is still progress.

And today, this is the best I can do.

This is me grieving