You Are The Ground They Walk On

The house is quiet now, but the silence feels heavy, like something is being held back. You notice the way your child moves—softly, carefully, watching your face to see if it is safe to make a sound.

They have learned to tiptoe around your sadness, afraid that one wrong step might make you break. And your heart aches because you wanted to be their shelter, not the storm they have to navigate.

But listen—the light inside you is not a fragile thing that shatters under weight. It is the very ground they are walking on.

Even when you are weeping, even when you feel undone, the love that holds them is stronger than your grief. The light does not ask you to be perfect; it only asks you to be present.

Your tears do not scare it away. They water the soil where your connection grows.

You do not have to fix your face before you look at them. The light sees both of you, and it is not afraid of the dark.