Image Credits: via Isaiah Ireland
How blessed am I
to wake up in a body that carries me,
even on the days it feels heavy,
even when it forgets its own strength.
How blessed am I
to have breath that comes back
after every doubt.
How blessed am I
to know people who remember me
when I forget myself,
who say my name like it matters,
like it belongs somewhere.
Even in silence,
I am held in ways I cannot always see.
How blessed am I
to have survived the versions of me
that thought they wouldn’t,
to stand here, unfinished and unsure
but still becoming.
There is something sacred
about not giving up.
How blessed am I
to feel so deeply it aches,
to love in ways that spill over,
to care even when it’s inconvenient.
It means I am alive,
and that must count for something.
How blessed am I,
not because everything in life is perfect,
but because somehow,
through all of it,
I’m still here
to ask the question.
Neela Freeman, exercise science major, senior