Breathless in All the Wrong Ways

I walked away from a job I loved — not because I wanted to, but because my body forced me to.

I loved the daycare. The sticky hands clutching mine, the bursts of laughter that echoed louder than the playground bell, the endless why? questions only children can ask. It felt like a place I could belong. A place I could stay.

But my lungs said otherwise. My asthma has been worsening, and one attack sent me to the ER. Every time I stepped into the daycare, my already fragile immune system reminded me of its limits. Loving something deeply doesn’t always mean you’re allowed to keep it.

So now I’m home. A student again, working toward finishing my ESL certification, with the goal of applying to teacher’s college next. I know it’s the right path — a way to build a solid career while still holding onto my love for children.

And yet…

Even though my parents tell me I’m not a burden. Even though they promise to pay me for cleaning the house and the Airbnb, and that I’ll never go without… it still feels off. What they give freely, I carry as debt in my chest. Gratitude mixed with guilt is a heavy currency.

My mom tells me I’m just bored. That my classes haven’t started yet, and once they do, my mind will be too full — too alive — to spiral like this. She’s probably right. But these quiet in-between days are long. Too long.

I try to find peace in silence. Some days I manage. But most days, silence isn’t peace — it’s noise. It’s thought after thought after thought, until it torments me.

Have you ever felt that way? That silence isn’t restful but deafening? If so, how do you cope with it? How do you find peace when your own thoughts are the loudest thing in the room?

At 25, I thought I’d be further along. More independent. More put together. Instead, I’m rerouting. Starting over. And maybe that’s not failure, but just what life really is.

Messy. Circular. Breathless in all the wrong ways.

But still breathing.