The Lantern She Forgot She Carried

She used to have spark.

Not the loud kind.
Not the kind that demanded attention.

But the quiet kind… like a candle always lit behind her eyes.

And then, somewhere along the way, the flame dimmed.

It wasn’t one big moment.
It was a slow unfolding.

A little more responsibility.
A little less rest.
A little more caretaking.
A little less joy.

And one day, she realized she was doing everything she was supposed to do…

…but she couldn’t remember what she actually wanted.

Not what her family needed.
Not what the world expected.

What she wanted.

And that realization landed in her chest like a soft ache.

She still showed up every day.
She answered messages, handled appointments, kept things moving.

But inside, everything felt dull.

Even the things that once made her happy felt distant… like music playing in another room.

One afternoon, while folding laundry, she paused.

And a quiet thought slipped in:

 “Is this it?”

Not in a hopeless way.
In a curious way.

And then another whisper followed:

“I want to feel alive again.”

But fear rose quickly.

What if she didn’t have a passion anymore?
What if she was too late?
What if what she wanted wasn’t practical?

And underneath all of it was a deeper fear…

What if she discovered what she truly wanted—and didn’t allow herself to have it?

A few days later, she came across a sentence online that stopped her in her tracks:

“Your passion is not something you find.
It’s something you remember.”

She felt something soften in her chest.

That night, she lit a candle and opened her journal.

And she wrote one simple question:

“What makes me lose track of time?”

At first, she stared at the page.

Then she began to write.

Talking deeply with someone.
Learning about healing.
Creating something meaningful.
Writing.
Exploring new ideas.

And suddenly, she felt it…

Not a full answer.

But a spark.

Then she asked another question:

 “What do I care about… even when I’m tired?”

And there it was.

Connection. Meaning. Peace. Growth. Helping others feel safe and seen.

She realized her passion wasn’t missing.

It was simply buried beneath years of being the responsible one.

So she made one gentle decision.

She started a small passion project.

Just one hour a week.

Not to prove anything.

Not to impress anyone.

Just to remember herself.

And slowly, her inner light began to return.

Not like a lightning bolt.

More like a lantern.

Steady. Warm. Quiet.

And one day she caught herself smiling during an ordinary moment…

because she felt connected to herself again.

And she understood something she’d forgotten:

Passion isn’t a luxury.

It’s a life force.

It’s what keeps you from disappearing inside your responsibilities.

And maybe… It’s what helps you come home.