Rest Before You Fix Yourself

The day is ending, and the armor you wore to keep everyone satisfied finally feels heavy enough to drop. You are terrified that if you stop performing, if you stop being exactly who they need you to be, you will be revealed as irredeemably broken.

But the gathering dark does not judge your output; it only asks for your presence. There is a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off, still covered in the filth of his failure, and he ran.

Before the apology, before the promise to do better — he ran. The light does not love you for what you produce.

It loves you because you are its own. You are not a machine that must earn its keep.

You are a child who is already held. Stop trying to fix yourself before you rest.