that I can’t fix everything.
It’s another rainy day, and with it comes that familiar weight—the kind that settles in the chest, soft but heavy, like the sky itself. The clouds stretch endlessly, thick and gray, holding back an ocean of rain we can’t even see. It’s strange to think about, how something so vast and full can hover right above us, unseen yet always there. Maybe that’s how life is too—so much exists beyond what meets the eye, above and beneath the surface, in spaces we never think to look.
I remind myself, over and over, that I can’t fix everything. I can’t save everyone. And maybe that’s okay. Maybe all I really need to do is save myself. Lately, I feel like I’ve been building walls, layering protection, finding ways to shield myself from reality. Not because I don’t care—but because I do. Because everyone is carrying something, and as much as I wish I could, I can’t carry it all for them. There’s a solution for everything, but not every solution is mine to find. The best I can do is take care of my own battles, so I’m not a burden when I want to be a source of strength.
The unknown doesn’t scare me. What matters is that I’m here, in this moment, feeling everything as it comes. I just didn’t think it would be this hard. I guess that’s what happens over time—we wear down, piece by piece, until even the strongest parts of us become fragile. It’s like an old car that’s crossed too many miles; no matter how well you take care of it, the wear and tear adds up. Repairs become inevitable. And maintenance? Maintenance is always expensive.
With love,
Amy Douangmany
Dear Diary, 