But beneath that calm tide, a quiet fear paddles — of not being enough, of not becoming enough. I carry my unread pages and empty resume like invisible weights. Maybe the truth is I’m not catching my breath... I’m just hiding it.
I am afloat in a sea of hands that hold without pushing. The silence of 'no rush' is loud in my ears, yet my bones echo with guilt from stillness. I tell the world I am resting, healing, planning.