The Light Sees Your Hidden Hunger

The list is already long before you've had your coffee. Tasks, emails, the needs of everyone who will ask something of you today.

And somewhere in the middle, there is a quiet line item for your own hunger, your own thirst, your own ache. But you erase it.

You cross it out before you even finish writing it down, telling yourself it's selfish to include it, that there isn't enough room. You wear the smile that says you're fine, the mask that says you're capable, while the real you starves in the basement.

There was a woman who spent twelve years bleeding out, touching only the hem of a robe because she believed her need was too unclean to speak aloud. She didn't ask for a meeting.

She just reached. And the light stopped the entire crowd to turn around and say: Daughter.

Your faith has healed you. Go in peace.

It did not scold her for having a need. It called her by name.

The light is not surprised by your hunger. It is waiting for you to stop erasing it.

You do not have to earn the right to take up space. The bread is already broken for you.