The stillness that usually feels safe becomes suffocating.

When Hopelessness Feels Like It’s Suffocating You

Most days, I’m okay. I’ve come so far from where I used to be. I’ve put in the work to find my peace, and in a lot of ways, I’ve found it. I’ve learned how to sit with myself in the silence, and I’ve realized that the stillness I used to fear is now where I find my answers. The silence that once felt so heavy has become a place where I ground myself, where I remember who I am and how much I’ve overcome.

But sometimes that same silence, the place that usually brings me back to myself, can also break me. Especially at night, when the world goes quiet and I’m left alone with my thoughts. That’s when it hits the hardest. It’s like, out of nowhere, I’m pulled back into that familiar darkness, staring down a hopelessness that leaves me gasping for air. It hits like a wave crashing in, and suddenly I’m struggling just to find my footing again.

The weight of it all makes it hard to feel steady, like my thoughts are tangled and I’m second-guessing the very part of me that usually knows how to pull me through. It’s hard to lean on that inner voice when doubt is louder than anything else.

The stillness that usually feels safe becomes suffocating. I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, begging for my mind to stop racing. The silence that usually grounds me now keeps me up at night, tangled in thoughts I can’t quiet, no matter how hard I try.

There’s a kind of heaviness that doesn’t just sit on your shoulders. It presses into your chest, making it hard to breathe. It’s the kind that follows you to bed at night, where your mind just won’t stop. It’s that feeling of lying awake, staring at the ceiling, begging for some kind of relief.

Lately, I can’t seem to escape it. The worry, the fear, the constant loop of thoughts that won’t let me rest. I feel like I’m trapped in a storm, constantly being pulled under, fighting to find a way to the surface. But no matter how hard I try to keep my head above water, the waves just keep coming.

It’s not one thing. It’s not even a single moment. It’s the build-up. The never-ending feeling that I’m fighting an invisible force that’s too big to break through. The feeling that no matter how hard I try or how much I give, it’s never enough.

The worst part is how it feels in the quiet moments. When the world goes dark, and I’m left alone with my own thoughts. That’s when it hits the hardest. The hopelessness. The fear. The deep ache that keeps me up at night, wondering how to protect the people I love the most. Wondering how I’m going to make it through this without falling apart.

I’ve never been one to shy away from challenges. I’ve fought through more than I thought I could handle before. But this feels different. It feels like being stuck in a nightmare I can’t wake up from. I keep reminding myself that I’m stronger than this. That I’ve survived worse. But right now, it’s hard to feel anything but exhausted.

I know I’m not the only one who feels this way sometimes. There’s a certain loneliness in struggling with something you can’t quite put into words. Like the weight of everything you’re carrying is just too much to explain, even to yourself.

All I can do right now is keep going. Keep trying to breathe through it. Keep reminding myself that no storm lasts forever, even when it feels like it’s never going to end. And maybe that’s what hope really is. Continuing to fight when everything feels hopeless. Continuing to move when the weight of the world is on your shoulders.

I don’t have the answers. I don’t know how to fix this right now. But I know I’m not alone in feeling this way. And if you’re out there reading this, feeling suffocated by your own struggle, know that you’re not alone either. Sometimes, just making it through the night is enough.

And right now, that’s what I’m holding onto.

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With raw truth, resilience, and the strength to sit with the silence,

Lindsay-Michele

Living, healing, and navigating both the stillness and the chaos.

🖤 www.lindsay-michele.com | @downtherabbithole.lm