WHEN YOUR BODY STOPS AND THE WORLD RUNS YOU OVER

There's a moment, almost always silent, when your body says enough is enough. It doesn't warn you, it doesn't negotiate, it doesn't give you time to organize anything. It simply stops. And while you try to understand what's happening, the world keeps going with the gentleness of a steamroller. Because life, unfortunately, doesn't have a pause button, nor does it understand lungs that can't take any more, or overloaded minds, or sleepless nights.

When your body stops, everything you never wanted to face comes crashing down on you. Guilt, fragility, the fear of never being the same again. And the worst part: you're hit with the feeling that the system is crushing you because you don't fit its idea of ​​productivity, normality, or health.

It's hard to admit, but reaching that point strips you bare inside. It leaves you seeing life from the ground, breathless, your mind trying not to break. And yet, you keep going. Not out of bravery. Not because you're strong. You keep going because somewhere deep inside you, there's still a certainty that someone needs you, someone who looks at you as if you could hold up the world even though you can barely hold up yourself.

In those days, eating is a battle, moving is a negotiation, breathing is a full-time job. People don't see it. Most don't want to see it. "You look fine," they tell you, as if your skin were a mirror of your inner hell. No one considers that a body incapacitated can still appear functional on the outside. No one thinks that being still isn't the same as giving up.

But there are other moments too. The ones that weigh little but are worth so much. Your child's unexpected laughter. The calm of a strange morning when you can sit without pain. That message or gesture from someone who believes in you unconditionally. Those small cracks where a little air gets in and you remember that, despite everything, you're still here.

And that matters.

This blog isn't a story about overcoming adversity. This isn't a "how to be strong" manual, nor is it a stage for feigning heroism. It's simply a space to tell the truth: that the body breaks, that the mind falters, that life weighs heavily… and that even so, there are still possible paths forward, even when the world tramples you without a second thought.

If you're at that point, I want you to read this clearly: you are not a broken machine. You are not less for stopping. You are not a failure for needing help. Sometimes the body stops so that you can begin to listen to yourself. And even though everything around you keeps moving, your life still deserves to be lived, even in slowness, even in pain.

Here, even though it's difficult, we continue…

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