The Light Sees You Behind The Mask

The morning light catches the edge of your mask, and for a second, you are terrified it will slip. Someone offers a kind word, a compliment on your work, and your stomach tightens because you know the secret: you are just holding it together.

To say thank you feels like admitting to a lie you tell every day. But the light does not need your performance to be true.

It sees the trembling hands and the racing heart, and it calls you competent anyway. There was a woman who had bled for twelve years, hidden in the back of a crowd, certain she was unworthy to be seen.

She reached out anyway, just to touch the edge of a garment, and the light stopped everything to call her 'Daughter.' It did not wait for her to be fixed. It did not wait for her to feel ready.

The light sees what is hidden, and it loves what it finds. You do not have to earn the right to be held.

The mask is heavy, but you were never meant to wear it alone. The light is not fooled by your pretending, and it loves you more than your performance.