Holding Both

January 1, 2026

This morning began with heaviness.

Matthew was sad before I left for the gym — that deep, quiet sadness that comes at the end of a year. He did this last year too. It’s as if he feels time turning in his body, and he mourns what’s slipping behind him even when good things are ahead.

I went anyway.

Not because it was easy, but because sometimes the most faithful thing we can do is keep showing up — gently, imperfectly, honestly.

The gym felt familiar and foreign all at once. My second time back since maternity leave. My body remembered things my mind hadn’t caught up to yet. The EMOM was scaled. It was right. It was enough.

Near the end, one of the coaches I love walked in for open gym. She’s pregnant — due in May.

And just like that, grief surfaced.

Not loud. Not dramatic. Just present.

I thought of Michaela. I thought of how pregnancy announcements still carry weight in my chest. How joy and loss don’t take turns — they overlap.

I finished my workout and went home to my sweet new baby, whose very existence is joy made visible.

And somewhere between those two moments — grief at the gym and joy at home — I realized something again:

It is okay to hold both.

It is okay to miss who and what we’ve lost.

It is okay to love who and what we have.

It is okay that one does not erase the other.

I think this is the message Matthew may need today too.

That endings can hurt.

That beginnings can still be good.

That we don’t have to choose between remembering and moving forward.

This body I’m living in now carries a lot — grief, life, history, love.

And today, it carried me through movement, through memory, and back home again.

That feels like enough for one day.

It’s okay to hold space for grief and joy — even on the same day.