How was your day?

How was your day?

Such a simple question.
Such a small sentence.
And yet sometimes it feels impossibly heavy.

My throat tightens. My mouth feels thick. The words sit there, but they won’t come out clean. What do I say?

“It was good.”
“It was fine.”
“It was okay.”

But that isn’t the truth.

I smile, but it doesn’t quite reach my eyes. Today it’s a practiced smile. Today my eyes look away first.

Because what would the truth sound like?

Today was bad.
Today a baby nearly died because we didn’t have what we needed.
Today we ran out of oxygen.
Today a parent grabbed my arm and begged me to save their baby.
Today I stood in a room where hope felt fragile and thin.

Today was hard.

But sometimes… that’s my day everyday.

So what do I say when you ask me how my day was?

I say, “It was fine.”
I say, “It was okay.”

Because today I don’t have it in me to describe what I see. I don’t have the energy to unpack the weight of it. Sometimes I don’t want to be the heavy one in the room. Sometimes I don’t want to explain why my heart feels bruised.

And if I’m being honest, sometimes there’s a flicker of something else too. A quiet jealousy I don’t like admitting. You sing and dance and celebrate. You see the victories. And I stand in the suffering. I watch the endlessness of it. I hold the tension of it.

I don’t mean to feel that way. I know it isn’t the truth. I know those thoughts are whispers trying to distort perspective, trying to pull me into comparison instead of calling.

Because I also know this: I am not alone in it.

“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” (Philippians 4:13)

Not because I am strong.
Not because I don’t break.
But because when I have nothing left, He is still steady.

And so sometimes, instead of pretending, instead of shrinking the truth to make it easier for everyone else, I pause.

I take a breath.
I let the air fill my lungs slowly.
I let my shoulders drop.

And I say, gently, honestly,

“Today was hard.”

Because that is the truth.

And somehow, in speaking it, I find a little more strength to keep going tomorrow