SEASON OF SACRIFICE

“Exhausted but never giving up.” That has quietly become our daily reality. Every day feels like another battle to win, and before facing tomorrow again, we allow ourselves a moment to recharge, no matter how tired we already are.

We usually arrive home at around 9:00 in the evening, though sometimes we consider ourselves lucky if we make it by 8:30. That only happens when we are able to ride a jeepney immediately, when the line at the terminal is short, and when there are still enough jeepneys available for passengers. But on unlucky days, we arrive at the terminal late and are greeted by a long line of commuters, all equally exhausted from the day. Sometimes we still have to wait for another jeepney to arrive, hoping it will not be the last trip. If it is, then everyone must wait until the jeepney is completely filled before it can leave.

The ride itself is another challenge. To accommodate more passengers, the conductor places a narrow wooden bench inside the jeepney, squeezing more people into the already crowded space. Sitting there feels uncomfortable and suffocating, with barely enough room to move. Stretching your legs even a little becomes impossible. The exhaustion from work and school mixes with the discomfort of the commute, making the trip feel even longer.

Another struggle is trying to stay awake during the ride home. After a tiring day, sleep easily takes over. But if you accidentally fall asleep too deeply, you may suddenly wake up unfamiliar with your surroundings, realizing that you have already passed your stop and reached the next barangay. Sablan is no longer part of Baguio City; it is already in Benguet. That is why every commute requires alertness despite the exhaustion.

Every day, we travel from Baguio to Sablan and from Sablan back to Baguio. The journey usually takes around twenty to thirty minutes, depending on traffic. During the first few months, the routine felt draining and difficult. The long waits, crowded rides, and late arrivals at home tested our patience and endurance. But after almost two years, we have somehow grown used to it. There are still moments of complaining and exhaustion, but we remind ourselves of one important thing: at the end of the day, we are finally going home to our own home, no longer to a rented place.

That thought alone makes every tiring commute worth enduring.

The moment we finally reach home feels like the end of a long battle. Sitting on the couch or lying down on the bed to rest our exhausted bodies becomes the most awaited part of the day. The moment my back touches the cushion, my eyes begin to close on their own, as if sleep has been waiting for me all along. Many times, I intend to stand up after a few minutes to prepare hot water for coffee for my equally tired husband or to clean the little mess left from the morning rush but exhaustion wins before intentions do. Without realizing it, I drift into a short and unplanned sleep.

By the time we arrive home, Lucas, my six-year-old son, is already fast asleep in his father’s arms while we walk down the road. The child who once filled the day with laughter now sleeps heavily, defeated by tiredness. We quietly remove his shoes and tuck him into bed without even changing his clothes because waking him feels almost cruel. Sleep has wrapped around him too tightly, and all we can do is let him rest.

My twenty-year-old daughter goes straight to her room the moment we arrive. She drops onto her bed, carrying with her the exhaustion of school. In our own ways, each member of the family carries a different burden. Though we rarely speak about it at the end of the day, our bodies communicate the truth our mouths no longer have the strength to say—we are all tired.

My husband, as usual, sits quietly on the chair with his phone in hand while waiting for hot water for coffee. Beside him, I sit on the couch with my legs stretched lazily across his, scrolling through my own phone while eating whatever food we can manage to prepare. Dinner is no longer the warm family gathering often shown in movies. Most nights, it is silent, simple, and hurried. Yet despite everything, we still make sure to have a proper breakfast every morning, a small but meaningful ritual we look forward to before facing another demanding day.

Resting on the couch often turns into sleeping altogether. Before we know it, the clock strikes eleven, and we finally move to the bed for what little proper rest we can have. But even when my body lies down, my responsibilities remain awake. While everyone else sleeps peacefully, my mind continues to wander through unfinished tasks and pending deadlines. I open my laptop to check and answer emails, finish remaining work, and prepare for tomorrow.

Before closing my eyes again, I set several alarms, 2:00 a.m., 3:00 a.m., 4:00 a.m., afraid that exhaustion might keep me from waking up on time. Yet most mornings, I no longer wait for the alarms. At three in the morning, while the world is still silent and asleep, I rise once again. I work a little more before preparing for another day at four.

This has become our cycle, an endless rhythm of exhaustion, sacrifice, and perseverance. It is not easy, and some days feel heavier than others. Yet amid the sleepless nights, rushed meals, and weary bodies, love quietly lives within the ordinary moments: in carrying a sleeping child home, in short conversations and quick exchanges about each other’s day after a long day, in kissing them gently even when they are already asleep, and in silently staring at them for a while before finally closing our own eyes. These simple moments, though ordinary and often unnoticed, become reminders of why we continue despite the exhaustion. We may end each night tired and worn out, but every morning, we still rise.

This routine exhausts me at times, yet I continue because we carry many responsibilities, countless bills to pay, and dreams we are still trying to reach. Every long day and sleepless night feel like a sacrifice made for the family we love. Still, amid the tiredness, there is hope quietly living in our hearts, a prayer that maybe after another year, life will become a little lighter, the burdens fewer, and time with family longer. A hope that someday, we will no longer need side hustles just to get by, and that the moments we now sacrifice can finally be spent simply being together.

Work is another battle I have to face every single day. The moment I step into the workplace, I already carry the weight of responsibilities on my shoulders. I know I need to work hard because earning enough is no longer just a personal goal, it is a necessity. Bills wait every month, obligations never stop, and the future of my family depends on the sacrifices we make today. Because of this, I juggle many things at once, trying to balance work, family, and the endless demands of everyday life. In the process, I slowly lose time for myself and even for socializing with friends. Conversations become shorter, invitations are often declined, and rest becomes more important than leisure. Yet despite everything, I tell myself that it is okay because I know why I am doing all of this.

What makes the struggle heavier is not always the workload, but sometimes the people around me. There are days when negativity fills the workplace more than encouragement does. Some people easily judge, complain, or speak harshly without knowing what others are silently carrying. Their words and actions can slowly drain your energy, making an already exhausting day feel even more difficult. There are moments when they get into my nerves, moments when I want to answer back or defend myself from unfair treatment. But instead of allowing anger to consume me, I choose to protect my peace.

So, I continue doing what I have to do. I focus on my responsibilities, keep my head down, and try not to let negativity change the kind of person I am. Even when others are difficult, I still choose to treat them with kindness and respect. Not because they always deserve it, but because I do not want bitterness to grow in my heart. I have learned that responding with anger only adds more heaviness to an already tiring life.

The truth is, people do not always know the battles others are fighting. They do not see the sleepless nights, the early mornings, the sacrifices, and the silent worries carried every day. They do not know why I work so hard or why I keep pushing myself beyond exhaustion. And perhaps, I no longer feel the need to explain myself to anyone. The struggles I carry are deeply personal, understood only by me and by the people closest to my heart.

All I seek is fairness, understanding, and a little kindness in a world that already feels too heavy at times. Life is difficult enough without people making it harder for one another. Still, despite the exhaustion, the misunderstandings, and the negativity around me, I continue to move forward. Quietly, steadily, and with hope that someday, all these sacrifices will be worth it.

Among all the struggles I carry every day, perhaps the heaviest is the guilt I feel as a mother, especially when it comes to my son and his studies. During his moving-up ceremony, while other parents proudly celebrated their children’s achievements, a quiet guilt settled deeply inside me. I smiled, clapped, and hugged him tightly, but in my heart, I kept asking myself if I could have done more for him.

Because of work and the endless responsibilities waiting for me each day, I failed to give enough attention to his academic needs. There were nights when I was too tired to sit beside him and guide him through his lessons. There were mornings rushed by deadlines and obligations, leaving little time to check his schoolwork carefully. I know that if only I had spent more time tutoring him, helping him study, and patiently guiding him the way I wanted to, he could have performed better in school. That thought continues to linger in my mind, quietly reminding me of the moments I feel I failed him.

Yet despite everything, I still find comfort and pride in the kind of child he is becoming. He may not always excel academically, but he thinks and speaks with surprising maturity for his age. In his simple words and innocent understanding, I see kindness, resilience, and wisdom slowly growing within him. And somehow, that eases a part of the guilt I carry. It reminds me that although I may have lacked time, I never lacked love for him.

Still, I cannot help but compare the situation to how I was with his older sister. Back then, I had more time to guide her with her studies. I was able to sit beside her, help with assignments, review lessons, and become more present in her academic journey. But with my son, things became different. Life became heavier, responsibilities multiplied, and work demanded more from me. The time I wanted to give him slowly disappeared into long hours, exhaustion, and survival. It pains me to admit that I have given him less, not because I love him less, but because life has become more complicated than before.

There are moments when I feel helpless because so many things are at stake. Bills need to be paid, work needs to be done, and sacrifices have to be made to keep the family going. I try to juggle everything as much as I can, balancing motherhood, work, and responsibilities, even when it feels impossible. Some days I succeed, while other days I fall short. But through it all, one promise remains quietly alive inside my heart: I will dedicate more time to him whenever I can.

Perhaps motherhood is filled with this kind of silent guilt, the feeling of always wanting to give more than what time and circumstances allow. But despite the exhaustion and shortcomings, I continue trying. Because at the end of the day, every sacrifice, every sleepless night, and every struggle is rooted in one thing: love for my children and the hope that someday they will understand why I had to work so hard.

Sunday, the day I once thought would be my rest day, has become another part of the cycle of responsibilities I carry each week. Instead of sleeping longer or spending the entire day resting, I dedicate it to going to church, where another responsibility quietly waits for me. I have a role to fulfill there as well, and despite the exhaustion from the whole week, I continue to serve because I do not want to lose the spiritual growth that keeps me grounded amid life’s chaos.

There are mornings when I look at the pile of laundry waiting in the corner, the unwashed dishes, and the countless household chores left unfinished, knowing they will have to wait a little longer. Sometimes guilt creeps in, reminding me of the things I have not paid enough attention to at home. Yet deep inside, I hold on to the hope that one day life will slow down, and I will finally have more time for the things and people I often have to set aside.

Still, despite the busy schedule and endless obligations, Sunday remains special to me because it is the only real bonding time I have with my children. Amid the church activities, simple meals, short conversations, and moments spent together, I find comfort in their presence. Those few hours may seem ordinary to others, but to me, they are precious. In a life consumed by work, responsibilities, and exhaustion, Sunday becomes a quiet reminder that no matter how difficult life gets, family remains my greatest source of strength and peace.

And perhaps that is why I continue to endure the long days and sleepless nights, because deep inside, I still believe that all these sacrifices will someday lead to a life where time is no longer stolen by obligations, but freely shared with the people I love most.

And yet, even in the quiet corners of our home where unfinished chores gather like dust, the Christmas tree still standing since December, now disassembled and forgotten in the middle of May, the unfolded clothes resting endlessly on the couch, the cobwebs slowly claiming the ceiling, and the cupboards and cabinets long untouched, I am reminded not of neglect, but of the life that fills every hour of my days. It is not that I have stopped caring, but that I have learned to prioritize what cannot wait: the needs of my family, the responsibilities I have willingly embraced, and the commitments I continue to accept.

Soon, I know, there will be time to clean, to restore order, and to tend to the things I have set aside. But for now, this is my season of sacrifice.

Dr. Roselle G. Aniceto is an English teacher at the University of Baguio Science High School in the Philippines, where she teaches literature. Inspired by the literary texts she shares with her students, she feels motivated to create and share her own work. She also serves as the adviser for the English Club and Debate Club at the school. As part of her mission as a teacher, she also serves as a trainer and resource speaker.