I learned something about a kangaroo today, and I can't stop thinking about it.
Kangaroos are only pregnant for about 28 to 33 days, but they keep their babies in their pouches for up to eight months. And here's the kicker; if a kangaroo becomes pregnant before its pouch is free, it can pause the pregnancy until it's ready. Just… pause it. Scientists call it diapause.
Imagine that...
Imagine having the wisdom to know when you're not ready, built with the ability to pause your burdens until you're strong enough to carry them. Imagine delaying what would overwhelm you, without guilt, fear or shame. Imagine nurturing one part of your life while letting another stay still, untouched, unpressured, until the season shifts in your favor.
Now imagine this as the story of a woman.
Her name was Sama. A woman who believed she was supposed to sprint through life, faster, stronger, and better than yesterday. She wasn't raised to pause; she was raised to endure. Because in her world, stopping meant failure and slowing down was a luxury meant for people who weren't chasing survival.
But life has a way of breaking even the strongest people in the most delicate places.
Sama had dreams. Beautiful, loud, audacious dreams. But they demanded courage and consistency, and they terrified her because they were bigger than the life she grew up knowing.
Then came 2020, her hardest year. Three realities sat on her chest at once: grief that refused to loosen its grip, responsibilities that multiplied like shadows at sunset, and a dream quietly suffocating at the bottom of her to-do list. She had to choose between what she wanted and what survival demanded, not just for her, but for her siblings too.
She was drowning in her reality and her expectations. She told no one, of course. Strong women rarely express their pain. They just keep hopping, working, surviving… until they can't.
One night, while scrolling aimlessly on Instagram, she stumbled on this kangaroo fact. A random 30-second documentary clip that could have been a passing post, but those 30 seconds altered something fundamental inside her. It changed her life.
She replayed it again and again, unable to shake it off.
"Diapause" Nature, in all her quiet genius, built a creature that mastered timing, resilience, and restraint better than any human ever could.
And for the first time, Sama wondered:
What if this could apply to her too?
What if life wasn't asking her to abandon her dreams? What if what she needed and deserved was her own version of diapause.
She sat with that thought like a revelation. Maybe the goal wasn't to carry everything at once. Maybe survival wasn't about being strong all the time. Maybe wisdom was knowing what to grow now and what to postpone until her emotional and financial pouch had space again.
"The kangaroo doesn't pause out of fear. It pauses out of wisdom. It knows that starting something new while you're still nurturing something fragile isn't strength… it's abandonment."
When the thought sank in, she smiled... the calmest, purest smile she'd had since her responsibilities became shackles and her dreams became a burden.
In the following weeks, Sama began seeing her life through the lens of a kangaroo. Odd, unexpected and profoundly grounding.
Her responsibilities; her family, her work, her healing, were the joeys in her pouch. The ones that needed her warmth now. The ones that would fall apart without her.
Her dreams; the business she wanted to start, the book she wanted to write, and the degree that demanded sacrifices her home could not survive, were the paused embryos. Still alive. Still hers. Just waiting for their turn in the sunlight.
And her heart? It was the desert the kangaroo roamed harsh in places, wild in others, unpredictable, yet still capable of nurturing life.
A lot of us don't talk enough about readiness. We act like wanting something is the same as being ready for it, as though desire equals preparation. But a kangaroo won't give birth to something it can't carry. It waits. It holds the possibility in suspension until the conditions are right.
How many of us are carrying three half-nurtured dreams because we kept saying yes to new things before finishing the old ones?
How many of us are exhausted not just from working hard, but from trying to carry too much at once?
How many of us are still Sama, waiting to stumble on our own kangaroo story?
A newborn joey is barely an inch long when it's born, blind, hairless, and impossibly fragile. It crawls into its mother's pouch and stays there for eight months, growing quietly until it's ready for the world.
Now, I think about the parts of me that never had that.
The dreams I birthed too early and expected to survive.
The healing I rushed because I was embarrassed to still be broken.
The steps I took too soon because everyone else seemed to have reached the finish line.
What would have happened if I'd given those things a pouch?
Like Sama, I'm learning to pause now.
When the next opportunity comes and my pouch is still full, I'm learning to say, "Not yet." Even when the world insists I move faster, do more, be more.
Because the truth buried in that simple kangaroo fact is this:
Not every delay is denial. Sometimes it's nature giving you room to breathe.
Humans glorify rush. Nature glorifies rhythm.
Humans chase timelines. Nature honors seasons.
Humans fear waiting. Nature understands protection.
And the biggest lesson of all:
You can carry many versions of yourself at once.
You can nurture what needs attention now.
You can pause what will break you if forced too soon.
You can honor your past, hold your present, and still protect your future.
Because sometimes, the bravest thing you can do isn't to keep moving.
It's to pause and find your balance.
So the next time you feel overwhelmed by all the things you're supposed to be, remember the kangaroo.
And tell yourself, with tenderness and courage:
"Having the wisdom to pause isn't weakness. It's the deepest strength there is."
Because it's not that hard times don't come.
They absolutely do.
But life, nature, and even the kangaroo whisper the same timeless truth:
Hard times don't last.
Hard people do.