26 Strength in Stillness

They were growing into themselves again. They were motivated by dreams and plans for future endeavors.

There was more clarity in how they spoke. A quiet resolve that hadn’t been there before. They didn’t try so hard to please people who had made a habit of disrespecting them.

Even when the usual voices were still poking. Still tossing around that tired word “unstable” like saying it often enough would somehow make it true.

There were comments too, about how I never learned to “adult,” and somehow linked it to the fact that my mother died. Said with concern that didn’t quite mask the condescension. I was already an adult when it happened, and many years had passed since. I had already accomplished a lot on my own.

I found it strange, the way my losses became their narrative fuel. Especially from those who carried little responsibility on their shoulders.

They didn’t storm out or pretend not to care. They just looked tired. Tired of the same script. Tired of being expected to play along.

And while the accusations from the other side picked up speed, I stayed focused. On their progress. On teaching them how to be kind and steady people.

I was the one who cared for them, day by day.

Appointments. Meals. Check-ins. Rest. I stayed. I helped. I didn’t need to be praised for it but I needed the truth to hold.

It wasn’t easy. Another health issue hit, and I was managing symptoms quietly. The stress lingered beneath the surface like a second job. I barely had time to process it, but I knew I couldn’t afford to fall apart. They needed consistency. I needed clarity.

Because the contrast was brutal.

While they recovered in my care, others turned up the volume on narratives that had little to do with what was actually happening. While I made sure they had what they needed, others kept spinning a version of me that served them, not the truth.

And still they saw through it.

More than they used to.

They didn’t defend me out loud every time, but they didn’t fully absorb those words either. Their silence wasn’t agreement anymore. It was resistance.

Their agency kept surfacing.

They told the truth about being overwhelmed. They checked in when things got messy. They asked for clarity. They noticed when the pressure came from the outside, not inside.

And they didn’t bend so quickly to it.

We made it through steadier times.

Warm food. Shared space. Movie nights. No fractured edges.

Even after another health scare, I held steady. Barely, but I did.

And that’s what we had. Not only peace. But proof.

Proof that their growth was real. Proof that care and clarity could coexist.

This is what no one tells you about survival.

That truth doesn’t always roar.

Sometimes it just holds.

Quietly. Day after day.

-Disclaimer:

This piece reflects my lived experience and perspective during a specific period of time. Names and identifying details have been withheld or altered where appropriate. I share this not to assign blame, but to tell the truth as I experienced it. The goal is clarity, not conflict. If something here unsettles you, I ask only that you sit with that discomfort before assuming it was written about you.