You Do Not Have to Hide the Breakage

The day is ending, and the armor you wore for twelve hours finally feels too heavy to carry. You scan the room for a corner, a locked door, any shadow where you can let the burning in your eyes become tears without being seen.

You are exhausted from holding the crack together, from performing okayness while everything inside screams. But listen — the light does not need you to be composed to be with you.

It does not wait for you to find a private room before it draws near. Jesus stood at a well at noon, the hottest, most exposed hour, and spoke to a woman who was hiding in plain sight.

He did not tell her to go somewhere less visible. He sat with her right there.

The light sees the effort it takes to hold it in, and it whispers: you do not have to hide the breakage to be loved. The exhale is not a failure; it is the moment the mask falls and the real you finally breathes.

You are safe to cry, even here, because the light is already holding the pieces.