Echoes by Dana

Unchained. Unmasked. Unfiltered. Unapologetically me.

Author: Echoes by Dana

  • Running on Fumes, Waiting for the Sun

    Again on the highway. Again the passenger princess, the role I never auditioned for but so grateful I have the privilege to play on. Today I’m not glamorous, not scrolling happily through playlists or sipping iced coffee like a cliché Instagram reel. Today I’m quiet, tired, and heavy. My spirit aches, my body echoes the storm outside, and I just watch the road unravel ahead of me.

    Rain lashes at the windshield, and for a moment, the clouds feel personal, like they’ve been sent as a mirror for my insides. Low, heavy, pressing close to the earth. I can feel their weight in my chest. And instead of pushing it away, I just let it move through me. It’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to cry.

    Life right now feels like running on the last fumes of petrol, hoping you’ll roll into the next station before the engine dies. Every day is an autumn morning, foggy, unclear, but slowly, step by step, the sun rises, the fog lifts, and you can carry on.

    But in the meantime, I cry. For the who-knows-how-many time this week. Life is unfair. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard.

    This week, my mind was strong but my body hurt. Today, my body holds decently but my mind falters. That’s okay. I’m entitled to feel this way. It’s not easy to move, breathe, parent, work, and meet expectations all at once. Some days you’re a passenger princess; some days you’re just a passenger holding on, hoping the road doesn’t end before you do.

    And yet, the road keeps going. And so do I.

  • Still a Force (Just a Different Kind)

    It’s Friday afternoon and here I am, sitting on the couch, stuck with a thought that refuses to leave. It’s been camping in my head since yesterday, rent-free, humming like an annoying mosquito at night.

    The thought comes from something someone said to me: “You used to be a force, driving things till the end of the earth… ”

    Now, let me tell you, this is the absolute worst thing you can say to someone with a chronic illness. Honestly, it’s like throwing a brick into the lap of someone who’s already juggling eggs. We already grieve the person we were before getting sick. We’re already mad at our bodies, already tired of living in reruns. Reminding us of who we used to be is like pouring salt on an already generous wound.

    It breaks your spirit in the cruelest, subtlest way. Suddenly, you’re curled up in your own mind, fetal position activated, tears on standby, hoping that crying will flush the thought out. Spoiler: it usually doesn’t.

    I tried everything to shake it off today, three hours in the sauna, a nap in the afternoon, even the “maybe chocolate will solve this” trick. None of it worked. So here I am, writing instead, hoping words will succeed where sweat and naps failed.

    The thing is, I don’t actually believe people say these things to be cruel. Most of the time, they’re just… observing. They’re comparing the “me now” with the “me before” and narrating out loud what I already know too well. For them, it’s a passing comment. For me, it’s a spiral staircase down into gloom.

    Maybe I’m more sensitive these days. Maybe I’ve run out of emotional padding. But here’s what I know: I’m still a force. I may not be the bulldozer I once was, pushing things to the edge of the earth, but I am a different kind of force now. Quieter, maybe. Slower, definitely. But still moving, still alive, still here.

    And for me that’s enough.