There is a saying on my mom's side of the family: "Weeds do not perish.". If someone ever told about a setback, they would add at the end of their story, "But, oh well, weeds do not perish!" and let out a belly laugh.
The times are tough? Weeds do not perish.
Feeling sick? Weeds do not perish.
Your nemesis is picking a fight? Weeds do not perish.
It became the mantra on which I was raised. At first, it was something that you would roll your eyes at as a child. Silly grown-ups with their lame expressions.

But then it became a softer-spoken, consoling thing. Something your father would whisper to you as you cried in his arms because of your first heartbreak. It became a murmur under your breath as teachers laughed at your work. It became a burning sensation, like coals in your insides, firing you up to keep going. It became hope. It became resilience.

I read all of your struggles, and I see you all trying your best. I can't help you in ways that matter, even if I feel for all of you. You are all so far away, struggling with your own unique situations. I cannot possibly comprehend what you are going through. I can only cheer you on from the side and say to you what I told myself so many times:

Weeds do not perish.
You can do this.
You can do this again.
And more often than you think.
Like weeds, you rise again and again in the cracks of the pavement. You are a marvelous thing.
You cannot be stopped for good.
You cannot be stopped in a way that matters.

I can see you, and it is wonderful.

…ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ Rat