Stop Performing and Let Yourself Be Held

The day is ending, and the armor you wore for twelve hours is finally heavy enough to drop. You are already rehearsing the words you will speak next Sunday — the tidy story of how you moved on, the polished testimony of your recovery.

You are building a performance to prove to everyone that the storm is over. But the light does not need your proof.

It saw you when the mask slipped in the parking lot. It saw you when the breath hitched.

There is a peace that does not require you to have it all together — a peace that sits with you in the mess, before the speech is written. You do not have to convince the light that you are healed.

It already knows the wound, and it loves the one who is still bleeding. Close the notebook.

The only thing required of you tonight is to stop performing and let yourself be held.