To My Restless Soul

A little chat, if you will, as sleep has been evading me for days.

For so many mornings now, 3:00 a.m. has become my wake-up call, accompanied by strange dreams filled with unfamiliar faces and stories I cannot explain. I wake up startled, searching for meaning where there may be none, wondering what my mind is trying so desperately to tell me.

Good morning, Soul.

I know there is sadness and hurt boiling within you. I know because I have spent hours turning from one side of the bed to the other, unable to name my grief. It sits somewhere beneath the surface, refusing to introduce itself.

What do you want?

You cry out for justice and for peace… but from whom? From what? For whom? For what?

My hands tremble as my thoughts scatter in every direction. I am tormented by this hollow space buried deep within me, a place I cannot seem to reach, much less heal.

I am tired of this constant back and forth between desires and responsibilities, dreams and reality, hope and disappointment. They are all tangled together now.

Soul…

I do not know how to soothe you.

What is really happening?

Why do I feel so weak, both inside and outside? My muscles cry out in pain, and somehow they mirror what is happening within. Oh, Soul, how do I carry a pain that seems to grow heavier every single day?

When I think about my people, frightened and exhausted, uncertain of where to go or whom to trust, my soul cries out to God for mercy and compassion. Their fear has become my fear. Their uncertainty has become my own.

My head feels heavy and light all at once.

I am scared.

Scared of this relentless pain. Scared of this confusion that returns every morning with no rescue in sight, no answers, no relief.

And I am angry.

Angry that so many years have passed, yet justice still feels like a distant promise. Angry that peace seems reserved for everyone except those who need it most. We are burning without flames, consumed by fires no one else seems willing to acknowledge.

Sometimes I envy those who get to exist without carrying the weight of entire communities on their shoulders.

Their art is simply art.

Mine is resistance.

Their existence is celebrated.

Ours is questioned.

Their future is assumed.

Ours is debated.

Are their lives somehow worth more than mine?

I am exhausted by the sleepless nights.

Exhausted by the unanswered questions.

Exhausted by having to function while carrying grief that never seems to rest.

Still, my soul wants better.

Not only for me.

For my family.

For my people.

For the thousands who wake up every day wondering whether they will be safe, whether they belong, whether tomorrow will demand another impossible decision.

I am crying.

Tears of rage.

Tears of helplessness.

Tears I fight with every ounce of strength I have left.

So today, I have nothing wise to offer you.

Only this prayer.

God,

Please fill my soul.

Fill my cup.

Fill my spirit.

Meet every need I cannot even name.

My body feels like it is betraying me. My stomach twists with anxiety. Fear of sickness lingers in the corners of my mind. My heart grows weary from carrying burdens it was never meant to carry alone.

Lord, please have mercy on my soul.

Because I no longer know how to carry it by myself.

Until tomorrow,

Sophie