The questions we ask ourselves at 2am...

One too many hearts have quietly asked at 2 am., staring out rain-drenched windows, ceilings, or

into the heavy dark of a sleepless night:

How do I stop worrying?

How do I stop hurting?

How do I turn this mind off?

These aren’t questions that wait for daylight. They come softly but insistently, like the hum of a

storm in the distance — the kind that wraps itself around your ribs and won’t let go.

We often search for tidy answers — something we can hold in the palm of our hand like a remedy.

But truth rarely comes wrapped in neat packages. Healing arrives in uneven steps: in the breath you remembered to take, the tear you let fall without shame, the moment you reached out, even when you felt like pulling away.

And maybe that’s the point.

The hurting isn’t something to switch off. It’s something to listen to. It’s a signal, not a sentence.

Worry, too, is not weakness — it’s often the echo of someone who cares deeply and feels everything a little more than most.

If you find yourself asking those questions in the still of night, here’s what I want you to know:

You are not alone in the asking.

It’s okay to feel so deeply.

It doesn’t mean you’re broken. It means you’re alive, awake to your own humanity. And even if the

answers don’t come all at once — or at all — you are still allowed to rest, to breathe, to be held by the world gently, even in your wondering.

Sometimes, the softest kind of healing begins not when we silence the storm inside — but when we

sit beside it, hand on heart, and whisper:

“It’s okay. I’m still here.”

And that, too, is enough.

Warmly

Lucy