You Belong Even in the Silence

The mask is heavy this morning. You have spent hours polishing the gratitude, smoothing the edges of your voice so no one sees the tremor underneath.

You are terrified that if you stop performing, if you drop the act for even a second, they will finally see the truth: that you are a burden. That you are too much.

That they will ask you to leave. But the light sees behind the mask.

It saw the woman with twelve years of bleeding reach out from the crowd, trembling and unclean, thinking she had to hide. It stopped everything just to turn and call her 'Daughter.' It did not ask her to clean up first.

It did not ask her to be less of a burden. It simply held her.

You are not a guest who must earn their keep by being cheerful. You are a child who belongs at the table even in the silence.

The love that holds you is not afraid of your weight.