Mojo and the Mess

There’s a sentence people say when they don’t know what else to say.

“Everything happens for a reason.”

It usually comes with a soft voice. A tilted head. Sometimes a hand on your arm like that somehow makes it land better.

It doesn’t.

I know people mean well when they say it. I do.

They’re trying to make something unbearable sound… manageable.

They’re trying to wrap chaos in meaning so it doesn’t feel so terrifying.

But here’s the truth no one wants to say out loud:

Not everything has a reason.

And even if it did—some reasons would never be good enough.

Because what’s the reason for this?

What’s the reason for a body turning against itself?

For being sick in a way that doesn’t just pass?

For plans being replaced with appointments, scans, and words you never wanted to learn?

What’s the reason for the nights spent throwing up until there’s nothing left, but your body doesn’t get the memo?

For the kind of exhaustion that sleep doesn’t fix?

For looking in the mirror and not recognizing the person staring back?

Tell me the reason that makes that make sense.

I’ll wait.

And please don’t tell me it’s to make me stronger.

I didn’t ask to be strong like this.

There was never a moment where I thought, you know what would really build character? This.

Strength isn’t always inspiring.

Sometimes it’s just survival with a better PR team.

Sometimes “strong” just means

I didn’t have a choice.

People say it because they need to believe it.

Because if everything happens for a reason, then maybe they’re safe.

Maybe there’s order.

Maybe bad things won’t just show up uninvited and rearrange their entire life overnight.

But I live in the version where it does.

Where life can change in a sentence.

In a scan result.

In a word you can’t unhear.

And there’s no neat explanation waiting on the other side of it.

What I do believe is this:

People can create meaning after the fact.

We can find purpose in how we respond, in what we hold onto, in how we love through it.

But that’s not the same as saying this was meant to happen.

Because I will never believe that this—

this pain, this loss, this version of my life—

was assigned to me for a reason like it’s some kind of lesson plan.

If you want to help someone like me, don’t try to explain it.

Don’t try to make it make sense.

Just sit in it with us.

Say, “This sucks.”

Say, “I’m here.”

Say nothing at all, but don’t disappear.

That’s what actually helps.

Because sometimes the most honest thing you can say is:

There is no reason that makes this okay.

And I think we need to be brave enough to admit that.

🖤 Stay With Me

If this resonated with you—if you’ve felt this, lived this, or you’re just trying to understand it a little better—thank you for being here.

This space isn’t about perfect words or pretty versions of hard things.

It’s about the truth. The messy, uncomfortable, real parts people don’t always say out loud.

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