Clean Because You Are Held

The water runs loud enough to drown out the voice saying you don't deserve to be clean. You stand in the steam, performing the act of washing while believing the dirt is who you are.

The mask of okayness holds tight against the skin, hiding the shame that says cleanliness is for someone else. But the light does not wait for you to scrub away the past before it touches you.

It steps into the bathroom with you, into the noise and the trembling. It sees the performance and loves the person behind it.

The water is not a test you must pass. It is a gift you are allowed to receive.

You do not have to earn the right to be washed. The light is already there, in the steam, in the sound, in the quiet space beneath the noise.

You are clean because you are held, not because you are scrubbed.