The Quiet Storm Within Me

There’s a kind of sadness I carry that words often fail to explain. I don’t shout or demand attention it sits quietly in my chest, like a weight I’ve grown used to. Most people see the outer layer of me a student finishing university, the guy who made it through hell and somehow still stands. But beneath that strength is a soft, tired soul, still healing from wounds the world around can’t see.

My sadness started long before I knew what to call it. I was just a kid when I lost my father. One day, he was my world because he encourages me and the next he was gone and from that moment life began carving away pieces of my innocence. I had to grow up fast not because I wanted to, but because I had no choice I worked as a servant while other kids played. I smiled through the scorn of those who saw me as less, while my heart quietly asked, Why me?

I moved from place to place, never quite having a home that felt mine. I’ve seen what it’s like to feel like a burden. I’ve seen what it’s like to work hard and still feel small in someone else’s eyes, I’ve seen a lot. And yet, through it all, I never stopped moving. I carried that pain with me as my little secret letting it mold me but never destroy me.

Now, I’m nearing the end of my university journey. That’s a sentence I never thought I’d say. Soon I earn my independence, get a job, and watched my mother a woman who I carried more than anyone should finally begin building the home she always dreamed of. From the outside, it might look like success. And in many ways, it is. But the sadness never left.

It lives in the quiet moments when the world slows down, and I’m left alone with my thoughts. Most times it whispers to me at night, reminding me of everything I lost, everything I endured, everything I had to become just to survive. It asks me if I’ll ever feel fully okay.

And maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll always carry this sadness, this quiet storm. But I’ve learned that it’s okay. Because this sadness doesn’t mean I’m broken it means I’ve lived, I’ve fought and I’ve felt I won more than most people ever will.

I’m still here. Still standing. Still hoping. Still healing.

And that, to me, is everything, surviving is winning.