Things I’m Still Holding Gently

I’m still holding gently

the version of me

who didn’t know better,

but still showed up,

still tried.

I’m still holding gently

the anger that flares

when I feel small again—

not to feed it,

but to listen to what it’s been trying to protect.

I’m still holding gently

my grief—

the slow kind,

the kind that lives in ordinary moments

and shows up without warning.

I’m still holding gently

my joy—

not chasing it,

not gripping it—

just letting it sit beside me

without explanation.

I’m still holding gently

the dreams I shelved

because life got too loud

and survival came first.

I’m still holding gently

my boundaries—

the quiet ones,

the kind that don’t need to be justified,

just honored.

I’m still holding gently

my softness—

even when the world tells me

to armor up.

I’m still holding gently

my healing—

slow, uneven,

but mine.

Not everything needs to be resolved

to be worthy of peace.

Some things just need

to be held

with tenderness,

until they feel safe enough

to let go on their own.