Fake It Till You Make It

Fake It Till You Make It

Do they say fake it till you make it because eventually you start to believe in your own confidence?
Do they say it because the pretending becomes a kind of truth—or maybe just a distraction?

Is it about keeping yourself so occupied that you forget how sad you are? Forget how much you miss them?

I go about my day—working, adulting, doing all the things I’m supposed to do. To strangers, I probably look unaffected. I smile, I move, I function. But beneath the surface, the sadness is still there, tucked deep in my heart. Maybe this is what faking it looks like—going through the motions until, someday, the ache feels less sharp.

Is that what they mean? That one day I’ll realize the pain isn’t as heavy, the sadness not as constant? That I’ll be so busy living that the missing won’t consume me?

Maybe then I’ll realize the ache has eased. Maybe that’s when I’ll know I’ve “made it.”

But right now—77 days in—the ache is strong. The pain is fierce. I miss him with every breath. Outwardly, I may look fine, but inside there are aches, whispers, and a noticeable missing piece.

So yes, I’m faking it. And some days, I don’t even care if I ever make it—I just want the ache to ease.

Hold Me

Hold Me

I’ve got you.
I’ll take you to a place where you are safe.
Hold on to me—
I will carry you to where love and laughter live,
where there is no more fighting, no more tears.

Come with me.
We’ll be safe in our bubble,
safe together.

You are the love of my life,
the greatest loss of my life.
I will love you all my days.
I will never hurt you again.

Stay with me.
I still need you.
Don’t leave me.
I still want you.
I will love you right.

---

You woke before the sunrise,
hid yourself away behind the bathroom door.
You said you were fine—
but I saw the evidence with my own eyes.
I chose to believe the lie.

You told me you wouldn’t die.
I wanted to believe you.

Days passed.
You grew so tired.
I prayed for the silence to end,
but when it broke, it wasn’t your voice—
a call,
a sound that froze my bones.

Shock held me in place
when it should have been your arms.

---

Hold me.
I still need you.
Can you hear me cry out to you?
Please—don’t let go.

There you lay on the ground.
I reach for your hand,
longing to pull you into me,
to let my love make this right.

Endless miles blur beneath my tires
as I drive away,
carrying a nightmare I can’t escape.

I am strong, but I need you.
Come back, I still want you.
I cry out—don’t leave me.

I will love you for the rest of my life.

Mood and Grief Tracker

  July 29, 2025

Mood (1 = Terrible, 5 = Peaceful/Content): 2

Grief (1 = Overwhelming, 5 = Calm): 3

Day 28 

Today, Rick hit something while driving to work and tore something from Lady's undercarriage, almost losing control. So she's in the shop. That's stressful. I managed to find someone to work for me. Brooke had stomach issues, so she declined to go to therapy. I find myself disappointed in people I had counted on or thought maybe I could. Just to find they are the same as they've always been. There is one person in particular I am the most disappointed in because I had the most expectations for. However, it seems the people I wouldn't have picked in a million years are the ones with the most compassion. Very disappointing. As far as grief its just a constant ache now that I push it far down in the place where my soul was. Jeanette mentioned she had a nightmare about being an orphan. I didn't have the heart to tell her, yet. 

My imprint on the world today is a little bit harder to come up with since I've been pretty solitary for the most part today. I guess Rick would miss not having a ride... but he'd make do with Jeanette or Uber. I remember when he used to ride with co-workers when they lived in the neighborhood. Mazikeen. I know she misses me because when I would get home from Georgia she'd run to me... my anti social demonic cat misses me heh. 

Mood and Grief Tracker

July 28, 2025

Mood (1 = Terrible, 5 = Peaceful/Content): 2

Grief (1 = Overwhelming, 5 = Calm): 3

My scale also reflects the small tantrum and rage fit I had today but not my mood the whole day.

My Imprint for the day goes to Stephanie Wiggins because she volunteered as tribute and we had breakfast together 

Grief and mood tracker

July 27, 2025

Mood (1 = Terrible, 5 = Peaceful/Content): 4

Grief (1 = Overwhelming, 5 = Calm): 4

I worked today. It was a quiet day overall.

I’m not feeling well. Last night I used ChatGPT to spell check and make my journal concise and it responded with a letter from Brandon’s point of you. It was so close to his cadence and his quirky sayings- just CHILLS man!

It’ would be Adam’s 51st birthday. 

How do I make an imprint on the world?

A homeless couple came in looking for help. He said he was a vet with a pacemaker and the heat was very high today. So I told them they could take their dog and sit in an alcove area of the building to charge their phone and cool down. I printed off resources to find help. Sadly it’s hard being homeless with a pet. I know what it’s like to be in their situation. I’ve been homeless, I’ve couch surfed. I know it all to well.. with a baby. I hope I showed them compassion and kindness. My mom asked us in her will to donate to homeless pets so I try to do that. I asked them if Princess Boots needed anything to eat or did they want they leftover pizza. I hope they get the help they need soon.

Kintsugi

I Am Kintsugi

There’s a Japanese art form called Kintsugi, where broken pottery is repaired using lacquer mixed with powdered gold. Instead of hiding the cracks, the artist highlights them. The break isn’t something to be ashamed of—it becomes part of the object’s story, making it more valuable than before.

My therapist recently told me, “You’re like Kintsugi pottery.”

I took the illustration she gave me and sat with it. The more I thought about it, the more I understood. I have been shattered—by grief, by loss, by things I never asked for but had to carry anyway. When someone I love died, I cracked in ways I didn’t know were possible. My routines broke. My beliefs broke. My sense of time, of fairness, of safety—splintered. I thought I would never be whole again.

But I’m starting to learn something: healing doesn’t mean going back to who I was. It means honoring who I am now—because of what I’ve lived through.

Even though the cracks are visible, a lot like scars on our skin, the gold inlaid is a sign of healing.

The gold that fills my cracks isn’t glittery or obvious.

Sometimes it’s quiet strength—the ability to get out of bed on days I don’t want to.

Sometimes it’s vulnerability—the way I can now speak openly about my pain.

Sometimes it’s connection—how I can sit with others in their grief because I truly understand it.

I didn’t choose the breaking.

But I am choosing the gold, for now.

And every time I show up for myself—every time I write, cry, or reflect instead of going numb—I’m painting those cracks with something resilient and real.

So no, I’m not “good as new.”

I’m better.

I’m different.

My scars are beautiful.

I am Kintsugi.

🌀 Reader Reflection

If you’re reading this and feel like you’re in pieces—know this: you don’t have to put yourself back together the same way. You can be changed and still be whole. Your cracks don’t make you less; they can become the most honest, human, and beautiful parts of you.

How have your broken places been filled with gold?

I’d love to hear what healing has looked like for you.

Here are a few questions to reflect on:

1. What are the “cracks” in your life that you’ve learned to live with—or even grow from?
2. If you were made of Kintsugi, what would your gold be?
   What strength or lesson has filled your broken places?
3. Has your pain shaped you into someone more compassionate or wise? How?
4. What part of your story do you now see as beautiful, even if it hurt at the time?
5. What does healing look like for you today—not perfect, but real?