There are times in life when everything feels overwhelming. The days feel too short, the work feels too much, and our minds just can’t catch a break. In those moments, we long for a pause, a moment of relief, something to remind us that what we are going through won’t last forever. One day, during such a phase, I found a phrase that gave me comfort like a warm cup of tea on a cold, rainy day—“This too shall pass.” It’s a simple sentence. Just four words. But they carry so much weight, so much truth, and strangely, so much peace.
Life is not always easy. And sometimes, it’s not about something tragic or dramatic happening. It’s not always about heartbreak or grief. Sometimes, it’s the exhaustion from constant work, the burden of responsibilities piling up one after the other, the tiredness that sinks deep into your bones. Like six years ago, when we worked on the house—inside and out. We painted walls, sanded doors, touched every corner of a two-story, 200 square meter home with brushes, rollers, and sheer effort. It felt endless.
The physical effort alone was draining. Every evening, our bodies ached in places we didn’t even know could ache. We had paint in our hair, dust in our lungs, muscles sore and patience wearing thin. But beyond the physical, it was the mental load that weighed heavier. The kind that came from seeing how much was still left to do while we were already too tired to do what was in front of us. And on top of it, we’d step outside and realize that the backyard also needed work. We had to flatten the ground, make it level, lay the rolls of fresh turf we bought from a grass farm, piece by piece, until the hands were sore and the backs stiff—but back then, it was just another task on the never-ending list.
Then there was my husband. I remember watching him work endlessly, building a wall around the house stone by stone, lifting, aligning, adjusting. And the terrace roofing—another job that seemed simple from afar but was full of complexity, time, effort, and energy. I helped where I could, sometimes just stood there, trying not to feel helpless or frustrated or overwhelmed. Trying not to let the exhaustion leak into my emotions. But it did. It always did.
In the middle of all that, I would catch myself searching for words, for thoughts, for anything that could calm the storm inside my head. Because while my hands were busy, my mind couldn’t stop racing. It looped around everything left to do, every mistake made, every piece that still needed to fit together.
And then I heard it. Or maybe I read it somewhere again. This too shall pass.
It stopped me. Just like that. Like a gentle reminder from the universe that all things—good, bad, beautiful, ugly—are temporary. Nothing stays the same. That moment of struggle, that wave of stress, that mountain of work—it eventually passed. It didn’t last. And somehow, that thought made everything feel a little lighter.
This sentence isn’t only for the heartbreaks we see in movies or the tearful moments we don’t talk about often. It’s also for the quiet, unnoticed struggles. Like not being able to sleep because your mind is too full. Like being too tired to cook, but doing it anyway. Like running errands when all you want is to sit down for ten minutes. Like managing work stress when the deadlines feel like a weight on your chest. It applies there, too.
There is something magical about acknowledging that time moves on. That frustration doesn’t stay forever. That even the most exhausting days are just that—days. And they come to an end. We sleep, we rest, and we wake up a bit stronger than the day before. And now, when I walk past the walls we painted, or sit in the terrace we roofed ourselves, I remember how tired we were—and I smile. Because we made it through.
“This too shall pass” helped me hold on, not with desperation, but with quiet strength. It taught me to breathe through hard moments, not to fight against them too fiercely, but to let them run their course. Because fighting time is useless. But trusting it? That brings peace.
Sometimes, back then, when I was kneeling in the dirt of our backyard, smoothing out the soil, I would repeat it softly to myself. This too shall pass. Not in sadness, not as a wish for it to be over immediately, but as a promise. That all effort, all strain, all hard stages—they don’t last forever. And now, when I walk on that grass we planted, barefoot and calm, I think, “I’m glad we kept going.”
The truth is, life is full of uncomfortable, tiring, messy seasons. And we don’t talk enough about how hard those seasons are—not because we’re afraid to, but because they become so normal that we don’t realize how heavy they were until they’re over. Only then do we pause and say, “Wow, we really did that.” But while we’re in the middle of them, it helps to have something to hold on to. Something small but steady. A sentence. A whisper. This too shall pass.
It’s not a magic solution. It didn’t make the paint dry faster or the roof install itself. It didn’t take away the work. But it gave my mind something to believe in. A reason to keep going. A gentle encouragement. It helped shift my perspective from being buried in the moment to seeing above it. Like standing in a rainstorm and knowing that the clouds will break. That the sun still exists above them, even if I couldn’t see it.
And the beauty of this sentence is that it works both ways. It’s not just for the hard times. It’s also a reminder to appreciate the good moments, because they too will pass. The laughter around the dinner table, the quiet cup of tea after a long day, the soft look in my husband’s eyes when he saw the work finally coming together—those moments were just as fleeting. And realizing that made them even more precious.
So now, whether it’s stress from work or those never-ending moments where everything feels too much, or times when my energy is low and my patience feels like it’s hanging by a thread, I tell myself gently, This too shall pass. And every time I say it, I feel like I’m giving myself a little grace. Like I’m reminding myself that it’s okay not to be okay all the time. That this is just a season. That I am moving through it.
We often underestimate the power of small thoughts. Of simple truths. But I believe words can carry us through things we didn’t think we could survive. They become anchors. And for me, this sentence—this quiet, wise, and comforting line—has become mine.
I hope whoever reads this finds their own anchor. Maybe this phrase can be yours, too. Let it wrap around you when you’re overwhelmed. Let it whisper to you when you’re tired. Let it be the little light that reminds you to keep going, not because everything is perfect, but because nothing lasts forever. Not the chaos, not the exhaustion, not even the things that feel impossible.
Take a deep breath. Close your eyes. Remind yourself gently, kindly, truthfully—this too shall pass. And then, carry on. One step, one task, one deep breath at a time.
