You Are Held, Not Hollowed Out

The house is quiet now, and the silence feels less like peace and more like an echo of who you used to be. You have poured yourself out so completely for this child that you fear there is nothing left inside but the shape of their needs.

But the light does not vanish when it is shared; it multiplies. There was a woman who had spent everything on doctors and had nothing left to give, yet when she reached out in her emptiness, the light did not scold her for having nothing.

It called her daughter. Your identity was not lost in the giving; it was waiting to be refilled by the same source that filled you before you ever became a parent.

You are not a vessel that empties; you are a branch that remains connected. The love you give them flows through you, not from your own depleted reserves.

You are still you, and the light is still here, making sure you are not hollowed out, but held.