There was a time in my life when I became incredibly good at carrying everything on my own. Not because I wanted to, but because I had to. Divorce. Years of single motherhood. Building a community. Running an organization. Making endless decisions. Holding everyone else together while quietly carrying my own burdens. Somewhere along the way, I came to believe this was simply what strength looked like.
Every year, the Three Weeks arrive. We remember the tragedies of our past, observe the customs of mourning, and remind ourselves that our Sages teach the destruction of the Beis Hamikdash was rooted in baseless hatred. But this year, I found myself asking a different question.
There is a certain safety that comes after heartbreak. A rhythm forms. Life settles. You learn how to carry yourself through the world without needing too much from anyone. Your days become manageable, predictable, peaceful enough. And after enough disappointment, enough shattered expectations, enough rebuilding, there’s a quiet voice that begins to whisper:
For many years of my life, probably from my early teens until my late thirties, my emotional world often felt like a roller coaster. My inner state depended almost entirely on what was happening around me. A phone call could lift me up or send me crashing down. An interaction with someone, a financial situation, a conversation with my spouse, an unexpected challenge, all of these external events determined how I felt that day.
When I look at the world today, I see so many women carrying so much. We juggle family, work, relationships, and the endless demands of life. We face challenges both personal and communal, and often the weight feels heavy. And yet, when I look at women through the lens of faith, I see incredible strength. I see women who not only survive challenges but rise through them with courage and grace.
