There came a morning not long ago when I walked out my room on my way to work, glanced back at my bed, and noticed it still wasn’t made. For some people, that might not mean much. But for me? 💭 That was a silent alarm. I am the “model home” friend—the one who keeps everything in order just in case somebody pops up. My home has always been my peace, my pride, and a reflection of how I carry myself. So, when I began walking out the door morning after morning, leaving that bed undone… it wasn’t about comfort. It was about something inside of me quietly shutting down.
What looked like a simple change in routine was really my spirit saying, “I’m tired.” Not the physical tired that a good nap fixes, but that deep emotional heaviness you carry when life has been lifeing nonstop. I started noticing I was sleeping until my alarm actually went off—no more waking up before it, no more setting the tone of my day with intention. Work had been mentally draining, my mind was cluttered, and I was emotionally tapped out. 😔 Yet I was still doing what strong friends do—getting up, putting on a smile, and showing up.
Most mornings I started with the Word, not out of habit, but survival. 🙏🏽 Turning on a sermon was the one thing that still brought me back to center. It reminded me that no matter what my emotions were trying to convince me of, God still had breath in my body and purpose in my days. I thank God for a job that allows me to listen to the Word all day, because some days that’s the only thing that kept me from falling apart. It didn’t erase what I was feeling, but it gave me just enough hope to make it through.
And still, I kept smiling for everyone else walking into work with biscuits or donuts, greeting people with joy, while moments earlier I had been in my car wiping tears. 💭 It’s a strange feeling to be the one everyone sees as the energy of the room while knowing deep down you don’t even feel connected to yourself. But I also realized—it’s no one’s fault if I’m hurting and choose not to say anything. People cannot check on what they don’t see, and I’ve mastered the art of looking “fine.”
This year has been filled with loss after loss. Classmates… a dear friend’s son… and now my own cousin, who will be laid to rest on my birthday. Grief started showing up in my body. I began feeling fear driving to work, fearing something could happen to me. When death starts surrounding you, it makes you confront your own mortality. 💭 It brought a sadness I hadn’t felt before—one that made me not want to leave my house, not want to make my bed, not want to face the world. But in that heaviness, God gently reminded me… every time I make it back home, that’s grace. Every time I open my eyes, that’s purpose. So why am I living like tomorrow isn’t already in His hands?
Now as I enter the final days before turning 49, I don’t feel panic—I feel reflection, I feel gratitude, and I feel peace. 🌱✨ I recognize this past year hasn’t been easy, but it’s been necessary. I’m grateful that both of my parents are still living to witness this chapter of my life. That’s not small. That’s a blessing. My kids are well, my health is still mine to steward, and I’m proud of myself for staying committed to my health journey—not for anyone else, but for me. That’s growth. What I refuse to carry into my 49th year is self-doubt. That little whisper that says “you’re not enough” does not get a boarding pass into this next season.
The day before my birthday, I’ll be sitting in the office of a new therapist. Not because I’m lost—but because I’m ready to go deeper. 🙏🏽 I want to understand how I love, how I attach, and how I can show up for myself emotionally and spiritually in ways I’ve never done before. It’s time to unpack some things I’ve pushed aside—especially the soul ties I’ve just swept under the rug. Yes, I’ve moved on logically, but emotionally? There are still fragments there. Regrets. What-ifs. Unspoken closure. And I know if I don’t deal with those honestly, they will follow me into seasons God never intended them to go.
People often forget to check on strong friends because we make “strong” look easy. We smile. We serve. We encourage. We’re the ones people call when they’re falling apart. But I want to say this to anybody reading—just because someone is functioning doesn’t mean they’re fine. 💭 Sometimes the strongest friend is the one quietly battling fear, grief, loneliness, health issues, or spiritual exhaustion. Checking on them doesn’t require much. A text. A prayer. A simple, “You crossed my mind—how are you, really?”
What I’ve learned through this season is that strength is not the absence of struggle—it’s the honesty to admit you have it. I am not unbreakable. I hurt. I worry. I question. But I also heal, grow, and rise again. ✨ And I’m not entering this next year just living—I’m choosing to be alive.
If you’re the strong friend too, I want you to hear me: you are allowed to be checked on. You are allowed to set your burdens down. You don’t have to be the rock every day. Even rocks erode when the storms never stop.
As I step into 49, I’m not carrying the old version of me with me. I’m not dragging my fears, my doubts, or my silent battles into this next year. I am walking in with honesty, gratitude, and peace. And I pray you do the same.
Because the truth is… the silent battles of the strong friend don’t end when someone finally checks on us. They end when we check in with ourselves and say, “I deserve healing too.” 🙏🏽✨💭
This is my season of silent battles becoming healed testimonies.
—BrandiJ 🌱✨