Dear Diary,
Some days, life feels heavier than usual.
Not because one enormous thing happened, but because every little thing decided to climb onto my shoulders at the same time—work responsibilities, family concerns, medical appointments, unanswered questions, expectations, symptoms, and emotions I keep postponing because apparently my feelings did not check my calendar before requesting a meeting.
From the outside, I may look like I am handling everything.
I am answering emails.
Solving problems at work.
Checking on the people I love.
Keeping track of appointments.
Managing symptoms.
Making plans.
And laughing at something completely inappropriate because humor remains one of my most reliable coping mechanisms.
But inside, I may be carrying more than anyone realizes.
👜 The Invisible Bag I Carry
Some burdens do not announce themselves.
They do not come with flashing lights, warning labels, or a convenient little sign that says:
Please be patient. She is carrying a lot today.
They hide behind a smile, a completed task, a returned phone call, or my favorite response:
“I’m fine.”
Fine—the four-letter word doing the work of an entire emotional support team.
Sometimes, “fine” means I am genuinely okay.
Other times, it means I do not have the energy to explain everything.
It means I am balancing the demands of overseeing properties and supporting my teams while also managing a body that occasionally behaves as though following my schedule is merely a suggestion.
It means trying to be present for my family while keeping track of prescriptions, treatments, appointments, and symptoms—and figuring out which specialist needs to hear about whatever my immune system has decided to do now.
And sometimes, “fine” simply means I have placed the breakdown on my calendar for later because right now, I have things to do.
Not every battle is visible, and not every strong person feels strong while fighting it.
🌱 Somehow, I Keep Going
There are days when continuing does not look courageous.
It looks like getting out of bed when my body wants more rest.
It looks like completing one responsibility instead of the ten waiting for me.
It looks like asking for help, adjusting the plan, taking a break, or admitting that I do not have everything under control.
Because let’s be honest: resilience sounds beautiful until life keeps enrolling you in advanced courses you never requested.
Still, I move forward.
Not always gracefully.
Not always confidently.
Sometimes with determination.
Sometimes with tears.
Sometimes with sarcasm, snacks, and a strongly worded conversation with God.
Somehow, I continue—and on certain days, that is more than enough.
💛 Hope Does Not Always Feel Hopeful
I used to think choosing hope meant feeling positive.
Now I understand that hope is not always cheerful. Sometimes, hope is quiet.
It is believing tomorrow may feel different, even when today feels like too much.
It is making another appointment.
Trying another treatment.
Setting another boundary.
Taking another breath.
It is resting without deciding that rest means failure.
Hope does not require me to ignore what hurts. It asks me to believe that what hurts is not the whole story.
Hope is not pretending the weight is light. It is believing the weight will not always feel this heavy.
🦋 Becoming Her
I am proud of the woman I am becoming.
Not because she handles everything perfectly, but because she is learning that strength does not require silence.
She is learning that she can be grateful and overwhelmed.
Strong and exhausted.
Healing and still hurting.
Hopeful and uncertain.
She is learning that being capable does not make her responsible for carrying everything.
She does not have to earn rest by reaching complete exhaustion first. She does not have to prove her pain before honoring it. And she does not have to keep accepting responsibilities simply because everyone knows she will find a way to get them done.
She can set boundaries without feeling guilty.
She can say, “I cannot do that today,” without attaching a five-paragraph explanation, three supporting exhibits, and a notarized apology.
Most importantly, she is learning to give herself the same patience, compassion, and understanding she so freely gives everyone else.
That may be the quietest kind of strength.
But it may also be the most powerful.
🎵 Music Playing in My Head While Writing This
“I Am Light” — India.Arie
Because beneath the diagnoses, responsibilities, disappointments, expectations, and everything else life has placed on my shoulders, I am still more than what I carry.
I am still growing.
I am still healing.
I am still becoming.
💭 Reflection Corner
Today, I am reminding myself:
- I do not have to minimize what feels heavy.
- Being capable does not mean I must carry everything.
- Resting does not erase my progress.
- Asking for help does not cancel my strength.
- I deserve to be proud of the woman I am becoming.
And if all I managed to do today was keep going, that counts too.
🌻 A Question for You
What invisible weight have you been carrying lately?
You do not have to share every detail, but I hope you will pause long enough to acknowledge it—and give yourself credit for how far you have come while carrying it.
Your strength may be quiet.
That does not make it any less powerful.
You are still here.
And that matters more than you know.
Until the next entry, thank you for continuing to walk beside me through the honest, complicated, heavy moments—and the laughter that somehow finds us in the middle of it all.
If this entry spoke to you, please like, share, or subscribe to The Dual Diagnosis Diaries. Someone else may need the reminder that being overwhelmed does not make them weak—and continuing does not have to look perfect to count.
Founder • Author • Advocate • Future Wellness Coach
Kia Lorice
The Dual Diagnosis Diaries 💜
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