The Light Sees Behind Your Mask

The morning light hits the kitchen table, and you have to put on the mask that says everything is fine. You smile at the cereal bowls, but inside you are breaking while trying to explain why mommy and daddy do not live together anymore.

The gap between your face and your heart feels like a canyon you cannot cross. You are performing okayness for the sake of the little ones, and it is exhausting.

But the light sees behind the mask. It sees the grief you are hiding so they can feel safe.

It knows the words you cannot find. There is a love that does not depend on your ability to hold it together.

A love that is kind to the ungrateful and the weary. That same love is already in the room, sitting on the floor with you.

It does not ask you to be strong. It does not require the performance to stop before it can reach you.

The light is not fooled by the smile, and it is not disappointed by the tears. It simply stays.

You do not have to carry the weight of their confusion alone. The peace you are trying to give them is already given to you.

You are loved not because you explained it perfectly, but because you are here.