Maybe today I did wear a hat.

At the very last minute, I decided I should make some sort of effort for the staff appreciation party at work. Not because I felt particularly inspired, and definitely not because I had it all together—but because I had just enough energy to try.

The Easter decorations were still up at home. They’ve been up longer than they should be, but I haven’t had the energy to take them down. That garland of pastel flowers caught my eye as I was grabbing my work bag. It was pretty, light, almost cheerful—and I figured, why not? I tossed it in my bag, looked around for my glue gun (because in my mind I was going to do this properly), but couldn’t find it. So instead, I grabbed a spool of white ribbon and a roll of double-sided tape. I threw in a black baseball cap I found hanging by the door, and that was it—my hat supplies.

When I got to work, I sat down at my desk and put it together in five rushed, messy minutes. It wasn’t a masterpiece, but it stayed in place, and it looked like it had purpose. That felt symbolic.

The first coworker to arrive saw it and immediately smiled. “I love your hat!” she said. I laughed and said, “Thanks, it’s like my life right now—held together with double-sided tape and a prayer.”

And it is. That’s not just a throwaway line. It’s the truth.

But here’s the part no one sees unless I tell them: underneath the hat, underneath the smile, I’m doing everything I can just to hold on. There’s grief and pain and fear woven into my mornings. There’s exhaustion. There’s a feeling of being stretched too thin. Sometimes I feel like I’m just one frayed edge away from unraveling completely.

And yet, somehow, I keep showing up. I keep taping things together. I keep praying.

Maybe that’s what resilience looks like—not neat and tidy, not inspirational in the Instagram way, but raw and real and a little messy. Like a flower crown stuck to a baseball cap.

We don’t always get to choose how we show up, but today, I showed up wearing something bright on my head and something heavier in my heart. And for a few hours, I let people see the bright part. I let myself enjoy a tiny win. I let myself be seen.

That’s enough for today.

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