You Were Supposed to Climb the Mountain, Not Carry It

It feels heavy. And not just metaphorically. Your shoulders ache. Your back is tight. Your mind is worn. You’re exhausted in ways you can’t quite explain—because this isn’t just about fatigue. This is about a weight you weren’t meant to bear.

You were supposed to climb the mountain, not carry it.

But somewhere along the way, you forgot to start at the bottom. Maybe you panicked. Maybe you thought you had to already be at the top. Maybe someone told you that strength looks like pushing through with the summit strapped to your back.

So you picked up the whole thing—the grief, the pressure, the fear, the expectations, the past, the future—and tried to haul it all at once. You didn’t even tie your shoes. You didn’t pack water. You didn’t look up to find a path. You just began, with the full weight pressing down on you.

And now it’s hard to breathe. You don’t know if you can go on much longer. Every step forward feels like you’re sinking deeper. You wonder if this is just life—endless burden, silent struggle.

But here’s the thing: mountains aren’t carried. They’re climbed.

They’re scaled one step at a time, sometimes with shaky legs and unsure footing. You stop to catch your breath. You rest. You re-tie your shoes. You ask for help. You adjust your route. You don’t lug the whole thing on your back—you take it in pieces, meeting each stretch of terrain as it comes.

There’s nothing weak about starting at the bottom. There’s nothing shameful about needing to begin again.

You don’t have to prove anything by pretending you’re already there.

So if it feels unbearably heavy right now, maybe it’s not because you’re failing. Maybe it’s just because you were never meant to carry this mountain in the first place.

Put it down.
Start over.
Tie your shoes.
Take a sip of water.
And climb.