Your Grief Is Where Light Shines

The house is quiet now, and you are holding your breath again. You feel the grief rising in your throat, hot and heavy, and you swallow it back down because you are terrified of making everyone around you uncomfortable.

You think your sadness is a leak that will ruin the room, a spill that everyone else has to clean up. But listen.

There was a man who sat with his friends at a table, overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death, weeping so hard he fell on his face in the dirt. He did not hide it.

He did not apologize for the weight of it. And the light did not ask him to quiet down.

The light asked his friends to stay awake. Your grief is not a burden you are forcing on others.

It is the very place where the light is most honest. The people who love you do not need your performance of okayness.

They need your presence, even when it is broken. The terror says you are too much.

The truth says you are exactly where the light wants to be. You do not have to carry this alone in the dark.