Safe Even When You Sink

The day ends, and you feel it—the quiet, terrible relief when the thing you feared actually happens. At least now you know.

At least you don't have to carry the weight of hoping anymore. It feels safer to be right about the darkness than to be wrong about the light.

But listen. The light does not require your hope to exist.

It was there before you started hoping, and it is here now that you have stopped. When the storm came, you sank—not because you failed, but because you looked at the wind instead of the hand already reaching for you.

The relief you feel is just the exhaustion of pretending you are alone. You can put that down now.

The fear was a lie you told yourself to avoid the risk of trust. You are not safe because you predicted the fall.

You are safe because you are held even when you sink.