Held by the Dark

In my last post, I wrote about releasing what was never ours to carry. But here’s the truth no one really talks about: once you finally put it all down, you don’t immediately feel free. You feel empty. Exhausted. There is a stillness that isn’t born of peace but of collapse—the body and soul finally allowed to stop surviving.

And that’s where this begins…

For the ones learning to rest after survival,

there is a stillness

not born of peace,

but of exhaustion.

A silence that comes

when you've screamed all your names into the wind

and none of them echo back.

You do not float because you chose to.

You float because the ground fell out

and you had nowhere left to land

but the arms of the void.

And in that blackness—you find her.

Not a monster.

Not a mirror.

Not a punishment.

But the Mother of Before.

She does not ask you to heal.

She does not beg you to rise.

She just holds.

And maybe for the first time,

you don't have to be anything.

Not strong. Not soft. Not even real.

Just breath.

Just ache.

Just presence.

The stillness is not death.

It is womb.

The dark before the pulse.

The pause before the spell.

So stay here, love.

Float a little longer.

The world will call for you again soon—but today,

you are being held

by something holy

that doesn't need you to move.

Just to be.

And if you find yourself here—resting in the dark, floating in the pause—know this: you are not lost, you are being remade.