the shame of failing publicly

There is a face you wear that does not fit your skin, worn tightly to hide the stumble everyone saw. You are performing okayness while the echo of your fall roars in your chest, and you fear the mask is the only thing left.

But remember there was a light that walked into the room while the stones were ready, bent down, and wrote in the dust instead of joining the accusation. That light sees the person behind the mask and knows there is no condemnation in its sight.

You do not need to climb back up to be worthy; you simply need to let the mask slip, right here, and breathe in the face that was never broken. The shame is a storm you are weathering, but the breath continuing means the light has not left.