For most of my life, I was always moving.
There was work to do. People to support. Deadlines to meet. Responsibilities to fulfil.
Like many women, I became accustomed to putting myself last.
I convinced myself that rest could wait. That I would slow down later. That I could keep pushing a little longer.
Then my body made a decision I was unwilling to make. It forced me to stop.
Illness has a way of doing that. It interrupts carefully crafted plans. It ignores calendars. It pays no attention to ambitions or deadlines.
At first, I resisted. I was frustrated by my limitations. Frustrated by the uncertainty. Frustrated that I could not function at the pace I had grown accustomed to.
But somewhere in that season, I began to learn.
I learned that rest is not weakness. I learned that healing requires patience. I learned that self-care is not selfish. And I learned that my worth is not determined by productivity.
The world teaches us to keep running. Our bodies sometimes teach us to pause.
Looking back, I see that the pause I fought so hard against became a gift.
Because in the stillness, I began to hear God more clearly. And in the quiet, I discovered a purpose greater than any plan I had made for myself.