I Wasn’t Even Supposed to Work Today | Pause & Breathe Journal By JBE Mindful Pathways

Pause & Breathe | JBE Mindful Pathways
Journal Entry: “I Wasn’t Even Supposed to Work Today”

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Dear Me

I wasn’t even supposed to work today.
I woke up with a weight I couldn’t name. A silence in my chest that felt like grief. And I tried to push it aside—tried to wash my face, scroll past it, distract myself with anything. But it followed me. Like a shadow that knew my scent.

I wasn’t supposed to write today, either. But I’m here. Sitting at my desk again. Because I don’t have the luxury of breaking. Not when everything I love depends on me holding it together. Not when the roof over my children’s heads feels like it could fall with one more storm. Not when silence is louder than it should be—and still no one asks if I’m okay.

What do you do when the silence says more than words ever could?
When the people closest to you see you post, build, bleed, and keep scrolling?

They don’t clap. They don’t check in. But they watch.
God, they always watch.

And somehow that hurts more.
Because at least the ones who never knew you don’t owe you anything.
But the ones who did? The ones who hugged your children and shared your table?
They know. They know what you’re fighting through. And they say nothing.

So you sit in your silence. You carry the weight. You keep writing.
Because it’s not an escape. It’s how you stay alive.

Writing is not for applause. It’s for survival.
And AI—this tool I’m using to help me breathe through my shaking hands—it’s not replacing my heart. It’s translating it. On the days I can’t hold the pen steady, I still find a way to speak. Because these words—they’re all I have left that are fully mine.

This isn’t about selling products or gaining followers or keeping up with digital noise.
This is about leaving a trail of light for my kids.
It’s about building something that doesn’t break when I do.
A million-dollar strategy birthed out of a thousand-dollar heartbreak.
Not because I’m greedy for money, but because I’m desperate for freedom. For legacy. For a home that doesn’t make my children jump at every creak in the ceiling.

You don’t know what it’s like to build something while everything around you is falling apart—until you’re the one with calloused hands and no backup plan.

And still, I show up.
Still, I build.
Still, I breathe.

Because this soul is not a fake.
And I believe in me more.

Even on fake days.
Even when I want to quit.
Even when no one shows up—I do.

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I don’t even know who’s going to read this.
Maybe no one.
Maybe just me, one day, when I need to remember why I didn’t quit.

But if someone does read this…
I hope they feel seen.
I hope they know what it’s like to carry a dream when no one helps you lift it.
To keep breathing when it feels like the world is watching, waiting for you to fail.

I hope they realize that being tired doesn’t mean you’re weak.
And being real in a world that rewards fake? That’s not failure. That’s faith.

Because showing up like this—on days that don’t deserve your effort,
on nights that don’t offer applause—
That’s the kind of work that changes lives.

And even if no one ever says “thank you,”
you’ll know.

You showed up.
And you didn’t let the silence steal your fire.

That’s something no one can ever take from you.

For now, rest in knowing you didn’t give up on you.

Softly,
Jujubee Divine Empress

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Journal Reflection:
When silence surrounds you, what are you still willing to believe in?
What are you building—quietly, courageously—that no one sees yet?