Rest Before You Remove The Mask

The mirror shows a face that is ready, but the chest feels heavy with what you had to hide to make it look that way. You smoothed the edges of your pain so others could feel safe, and now the mask feels like it has fused to your skin.

The world applauds the performance, but the light sees the exhaustion behind the smile. It knows the weight of holding yourself together for everyone else.

There is a rest that does not require you to take the mask off first. The light does not need your perfection to love you.

It is already sitting with the part of you that is tired of pretending. You do not have to earn the right to be seen by dropping the act.

The very face you wear to protect them is the one the light gently lifts to say: I know, and I am here.