After the Break

After the Break

by Sara Parks

I held it in for far too long
Afraid the truth would come out wrong.
Afraid that saying it out loud
Would break the quiet I’d allowed.

The plans I made, the road I knew,
All shifted fast without a clue.
No warning shot, no curtain fall
Just silence where I’d once stood tall.

I grieved the loss of what I’d built,
Then sat with sadness, fear, and guilt.
But bit by bit, I claimed new ground
In places I had never found.

I’m not the same, I wouldn’t lie.
Some parts were lost. I don’t know why.
But through the break, a softer fire
Re-lit the parts that still aspire.

My hands still reach, my eye still sees
The quiet held in skies and trees.
The words return in slower streams
But they are rooted now in dreams.

I don’t yet know just what comes next
The future’s loose, the past complex.
But I’m still here. I’m holding tight.
And that, for now, feels like my fight.

It’s strange how quickly everything can change.

A few weeks ago, I thought I had a clear idea of where my life was heading. I had routines, plans, and assumptions I didn’t even realize I was holding onto, until the ground underneath them shifted. I’ve been quiet here because I didn’t know how to put any of it into words. And maybe I still don’t.

But this image helped me find the place to begin again.

I took this photo at Lake Crescent on a stormy afternoon. The wind was strong, the waves were crashing, and the clouds were heavy, but then, just for a moment, a beam of light broke through. The water hit the rocks with force, but what struck me most was the small plant growing there, rooted deep between stone and moss. It was getting hit over and over, but it didn’t bend. It didn’t break.

That’s how it’s felt lately. Like life has been hurling itself at the edges of everything I knew. But somehow, in the middle of all that, something in me held firm. Or maybe something new started growing there.

I’ve learned that peace doesn’t always come wrapped in quiet. Sometimes it comes after the chaos. After the break. It looks different. It feels different. But it’s still peace.

The poem I’ve shared below came from that moment. From that space where something ends and something new begins even if you’re not quite sure what it is yet.

Thank you for giving me the grace to be quiet. And thank you for being here now, as I start to write again, not from the same place, but from a steadier one.

If you’ve ever felt yourself starting over, I hope this speaks to you. You’re not alone.

📷 Photo taken at Lake Crescent, Olympic National Park.