You Do Not Have to Leave to Find Rest

The mask is heavy this morning. You put it on before your feet hit the floor because the world expects you to be light, to be easy, to be manageable.

But underneath, something is breaking. There is a terrifying impulse rising in your chest—the urge to leave everything behind before you become too heavy to carry, before the weight of pretending crushes you completely.

You think running will make you lighter. But the mask travels with you.

The light does not ask you to hold it all together. It asks you to take it off.

There is a place inside you where you are not a burden, where you do not have to perform okayness for anyone. The Father saw you coming while you were still a long way off, still wearing the disguise, still carrying the stone.

He did not wait for you to drop the act. He ran to meet you.

You do not have to leave to find rest. You only have to stop hiding.