NurseSheGirl

September 26, 2026

I wake up every morning, but I never quite arrive,
I do the things I’m meant to do, but don’t feel much alive.
I answer when they call my name, and when I should, I smile.
I play the part convincingly – I’ve practiced for a while.

I work, I help, I listen. I carry what I can.
I show up for the people who need a steady hand.
I check the boxes, pay the bills, survive another day,
But somewhere in the motions, I think I slipped away.

I’m not exactly drowning. I’m not reaching for the shore.
I’m simply floating somewhere I don’t recognize anymore.
Not devastated, not content, not broken down in tears,
Just quietly existing while I watch the passing years.

And sometimes something reaches me – a laugh, a touch, a song,
A tiny spark reminding me, I’ve been here all along.
For just a fleeting moment, something underneath me stirs,
And life becomes a feeling instead of simply words.

But then the moment disappears, and everything turns gray,
And autopilot takes the wheel to carry me away.
I wonder how I have so much and still feel something’s gone,
How emptiness can settle in when there’s nothing even wrong.

I wonder if the strangers that I pass along the street
Conceal the same dull ache I do, behind their moving feet.
If underneath the “I’m okay,” the schedules and the plans,
We’re all just searching desperately for something that expands.

Beyond surviving Mondays, beyond making it through,
Beyond being what the world expects and doing what we do.
I don’t want some perfect life. I don’t need endless highs.
I just want to feel something when I close my weary eyes.

I want to wake up wanting things. I want a reason why.
I want to laugh without the thought that laughter has to die.
I want the little moments to feel bigger than they seem.
I want to stop existing like I’m watching someone’s dream.

Maybe joy is not a place where people get to stay.
Maybe it’s those moments that we gather on the way.
Maybe being empty doesn’t mean that hope is through,
The empty is just space inside with room to grow into.

So until I find that something, until the gray turns bright,
I’ll keep searching for the pieces that make living feel like life.
I may not be so hopeful, or feeling unafraid,
But somewhere in this numbness,
I want to feel again someday.