Lately, It’s Been Like This

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The messages started popping in. One after the other.

“Let’s check this.” “Try that again.” “No, that’s not working.” “Wait, maybe it’s this…”

My voice stayed steady, but inside, I could feel the weight stacking. It’s like carrying things you didn’t realize were heavy until your hands actually start to shake. The cursor blinked on my screen, mirroring the rapid, anxious beating in my chest.

And it wasn’t just the bug we were trying to fix.

It was everything else that had been quietly sitting in the background, waiting for a vulnerable moment like this to make itself known. The unanswered messages. The just checking in follow-ups I hadn’t sent.

The speakers we had reached out to for the community, some went silent, some polite, some declining. I caught myself staring at a rejection message a little longer than necessary, rereading it like maybe the words would change if I looked hard enough.

They didn’t.

And almost immediately, something else needed me. Another task. Another ping. Another reminder that the world was moving, whether I felt ready to move with it or not.

Deadlines didn’t wait either. There was a submission we were supposed to make. We knew about it. We planned for it. We talked about it. But somehow, in the messy blur of everything else, it slipped through the cracks. And now that the opportunity is gone, the anxiety of not missing another one sits heavy on my neck.

So I stepped in. Not because I had extra energy to spare, but because there was no other option. Maybe that’s exactly what this season has felt like: doing things not because you’re fully rested or ready, but simply because they need to be done.

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That morning, after Fajr, I had sat on my prayer mat for a bit longer than usual. The world was still soft then. It was calm. Not yet demanding.

I remember thinking about my day. Everything I needed to do. Everything I hadn’t done. “Okay… I’ll assign this.” “I’ll reach out to them.” “I’ll finalize that.” “I’ll engage the community with something meaningful today.”

It all sounded so clear in my head. Manageable, even. But somewhere between intention and reality, the day fractured. Because hours later, those same thoughts came back, just louder and drenched in panic.

“I haven’t done this.” “I still need a speaker.” “What am I posting today?” “That PDF needs to be finished.” “Oh, and that video… I said I would do that too.”

It was like my mind refused to rest, jumping frantically from one tabs to another, never quite settling. And in between all of that mental noise, I could feel it… that quiet, bone-deep exhaustion. Not the kind that makes you want to sleep immediately, but the kind that sits right behind your eyes. The kind that makes everything feel just a little heavier than it should.

At some point, I closed my eyes. Just for a few seconds. It wasn’t to sleep. It was just… to pause. To breathe. To physically hold everything inside without letting it spill over. Because the tears were close. They were right there, pressing against my eyelids, waiting for permission to fall.

But I opened my eyes again. Because there was still work to do.

I don’t think I have everything figured out right now. If anything, this season has shown me just how much I’m still learning. About responsibility. About showing up. About carrying things that matter without letting them crush you. And maybe most importantly, about accepting that I won’t always have the answers.

So maybe this is what life lately has been. A messy mix of small wins and quiet breakdowns. Of showing up and feeling entirely stretched out. Of trying, failing, adjusting, and trying all over again.

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In English we say, “I’m back, my Medium buddies. I’ve missed this space.” But in poetry we say: “I have returned to the blank page, seeking refuge in the familiar ache of unspilled words, trusting that here, my silence will finally be understood.”