Stress Aches.

This one goes out to everyone working their hardest.

Before I speak about my experience with stress, I want to wish those who are studying for exams or assignments the best of luck. I want to wish the best for those working hard at their jobs, too. Everything will work out. You will make it. Hard work will always pay off :)

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I ache and I ache and I ache.

I have never felt the physical weight of my stress. That was until I woke from my first stress dream this week. I’ve felt its presence before. Stress and I are familiar friends. Though she is usually a silent, nagging whisper in the back of my mind. A mental toll. Something I could brush off or silence.

Not today. I cannot ignore this. Every bone in my body bears the burden of my hard work. Arms weak from hours of relentless writing. Eyes tired from staring at words on a page. Legs sore from walking to and from the library. Even my fingers hurt from clutching the pen too tightly.

But I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Despite the soreness and the heaviness, it is a familiar pain. One which I have earned. One which I will not trade. Though my muscles are weeping against my bones, it feels worth it. It is worth it to know that I tried my hardest, that I tried my best.

“You love your job; you work hard at it.[...] You were treated horribly. You came out on the other end. You were always you.” - Hanya Yanagihara, A Little Life (a book sat on my to-read list)

It is oddly satisfying. It is like my body is recognising my mind. Validating my every effort poured out of myself and onto the pages. I think of every moment I doubted myself, every time I wanted to give up and give in. To surrender. Sometimes I wonder why I kept going when it felt like I had been finally defeated, finally bested by my own ambition. But then I remember how hard I have worked to be here in the first place. How much of myself I have already given to be where I am now. And I remember that the struggle itself is part of my journey, that this soreness is the cost of aspirations.

I suppose the ache is the clearest sign of my growth. I suppose it is my reminder that effort leaves a mark, not just on the page but within me. While I haven’t a clue how well I have done, it matters not. Because it is done. Because I put my all into this, and that is enough.

It is enough that I stood unwavering against the fear of not being enough.

“Go out there with your passion and your electric typewriter and work hard at...something.” - David Nicholls, One Day (one of my favourite books and shows.)

I do not just feel the ache of my effort. I feel the ache of my ambition, the ache of chasing every opportunity and refusing to let it slip by me. It is proof that I loved the process enough to let it hurt.

In my quiet room, I reach a peace, knowing that the struggle was mine.

Knowing that the victory is mine, too.

May our dear friend, Stress, challenge us all.