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THE WEIGHT OF BEING ALIVE
<p><img alt="" src="/media/inline_insight_image/1000129671.png"/><br/></p><p><br/></p><p>Life did not hurt all at once.</p><p>It hurt in pieces—small enough to ignore, sharp enough to remember.</p><p><br/></p><p>Nia learned this early.</p><p><br/></p><p>She learned it the day her best friend stopped saving her a seat without explaining why. She learned it the evening her parents spoke in low voices, thinking silence could hide sadness. She learned it when she worked hard for something she wanted, only to watch it slip away like it was never meant for her.</p><p><br/></p><p>Life, she realized, had its own way of teaching—without warnings.</p><p><br/></p><p>Every morning, Nia woke up and wore the same smile. Not because she was happy, but because people expected one. At school, she listened more than she spoke. At home, she stayed in her room, where the walls understood her better than words ever could.</p><p><br/></p><p>She kept a notebook hidden under her pillow.</p><p><br/></p><p>On its cover, she had written: Things Life Never Warned Me About.</p><p><br/></p><p>Inside were truths she couldn’t say out loud.</p><p><br/></p><p>> Life will disappoint you even when you try your best.</p><p>People can love you and still not know how to stay.</p><p>Growing up feels like losing pieces of yourself.</p><p><br/></p><p><br/></p><p><br/></p><p>Some nights, she cried quietly—not because she wanted to be saved, but because carrying everything alone became too heavy. Other nights, she stared at the ceiling and wondered why being alive required so much strength.</p><p><br/></p><p>But life, cruel as it seemed, was also patient.</p><p><br/></p><p>One afternoon, Nia noticed something small. The sun breaking through the clouds after a long rain. A laugh escaping her lips before she could stop it. Her mother knocking softly on her door, not to talk, just to sit beside her.</p><p><br/></p><p>She realized then that pain had never come to destroy her.</p><p><br/></p><p>It came to shape her.</p><p><br/></p><p>Life was not gentle—but it was honest. It took things away, yes, but it also gave her understanding. It taught her empathy. It taught her depth. It taught her that even broken moments carried meaning.</p><p><br/></p><p>On the last page of her notebook, Nia wrote something new:</p><p><br/></p><p>> Life hurts.</p><p>But I am still here.</p><p>And that must mean something.</p><p><br/></p><p><br/></p><p><br/></p><p>She closed the notebook and placed it back under her pillow.</p><p><br/></p><p>For the first time, the weight of being alive felt a little lighter—not because life had changed, but because she had learned how to carry it.</p>
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