The Dam

Lately, I feel like my emotions have been bottlenecked behind a dam that’s barely holding back the flood.

Most days I’m okay… but not okay.

I log on for work, take care of the dogs, answer emails and texts, figure out what’s for supper, and do all the normal life things. I laugh. I get things done. I make plans, even when I don’t really feel like seeing people.

But underneath the surface, it hurts.

Some days I carry the loss quietly, tucked beneath the normal routines of life. Other days it feels like someone knocked the wind out of me all over again. Most of the time, it’s all of those things mixed together in different proportions depending on the day.

This week, the smallest thing feels enormous.

A sharp comment.

An unkind word.

One more demand.

One more thing added to the list.

Any one of them can feel like it might break the dam.

But I realize it’s probably not even about those things. It’s about all the moments that came before them.

The weight of missing my dad and watching the people I love grieve him too.

The things I’ve pushed through because life kept moving.

The emotions I’ve set aside because there were responsibilities to handle.

It’s carrying more than what people see.

It’s being tired of being strong.

At this point, if the dam breaks, I don’t know what’s coming out first—a river of tears or the sort of response that makes people wonder if they’re about to become the next episode of Dateline.

The grief doesn’t always show up as tears. Sometimes it shows up as exhaustion, sadness, irritability, or feeling overwhelmed by things that normally wouldn’t bother me. This week, I’ve been especially aware of how little it takes to crack the surface.

And grief isn’t only the pain.

Some days my memories comfort me, make me smile, and remind me how lucky I was to be his daughter. Sometimes I catch myself laughing at something Dad would have said or replaying one of the countless stories stored away in my mind like old home movies. Those moments don’t erase the hurt, but they sit alongside it. I’m grateful for that. They remind me that the reason this hurts so much is because I was loved so well.

Maybe some days aren’t meant for holding it all together perfectly. Maybe some days are just for getting through. And if a few tears leak out along the way, that’s okay too.

Anyway—off we go. The dogs still need walked, healing isn’t a straight line, and life keeps lifin’.

© 2026 Anyway… Off We Go™ by Erica Shoemaker. All rights reserved.