You Do Not Have to Hold Yourself Together

The day is ending, and the armor you wore for twelve hours finally hits the floor. You remember the moment you said, 'I need help,' and watched their face soften while something inside you turned to stone.

You apologized for your own hunger. You made your vulnerability into a trespass.

But listen — the light does not require you to be hard to be safe. There is a rest that waits for you when the performing stops.

The One who knelt to wash dusty feet did not ask for your strength before he touched you. He simply came close.

You do not have to hold yourself together tonight. The exhale is not a failure; it is the moment you let the light carry what you were never meant to hold.