(Heartful Writings – Part 6)
There comes a moment when staying is no longer about survival — it becomes about devotion.
Not loud. Not dramatic. But soft. Steady. A quiet promise whispered inward:
“I won’t leave myself again.”
I Am Learning to Keep My Own Heart Warm
No longer waiting for someone to say “You matter.” No longer seeking permission to rest, to breathe, to just be.
Instead, I place both hands over my chest and remind myself:
“You are enough.You always were.”
Even in doubt. Even in sadness. Even in the silence no one else hears.
Loyalty to Myself Feels Like Peace
It doesn’t mean I never get overwhelmed. It means I no longer walk away from myself when I do.
When shame knocks, I stay. When fear rises, I listen. When I fall short, I hold myself gently, not harshly.
This is loyalty. Not to a version of me I wish I was —but to the one I am, right now.
My Safe Place Is Not Somewhere — It’s Me
Not a house. Not a relationship. Not a future achievement.
But this breath. This moment. This willingness to sit with myself without trying to change the shape of my sadness.
To say:
“You can cry here. You can rest here. And still be whole.”
The Strength to Stay Doesn’t Come From Force — But From Love
I don’t stay because I’m strong. I stay because I’ve grown tender enough to not abandon myself.
And that, too, is a kind of power —not loud, not seen, but sacred.
Because staying is no longer a fight. It is a coming home.
📬 If these words sat quietly beside something sacred in you, let them stay. Subscribe if you’d like more softness like this, woven gently into your days.
💭 A Reflection for You:
What if you kept the promises you once made to others — but made them to yourself this time?
What would it mean to be faithful to your fear, gentle with your grief, and committed to your healing?
Write the first sentence of your promise today.
Let it begin with:
“I’m here — and I’ll keep showing up.”
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