III.  

To the woman who learned early
that love meant vigilance.

To the one who scans the temperature of a room
before she lets her shoulders drop.

To the one who keeps the peace,
who anticipates conflict before it sparks,
who knows who is tired, who is hungry,
who is hurting—
before they say a word.

To the woman who holds her partner’s doubts,
her children’s fears,
her friends’ unraveling,
her family’s history—
and still wakes up and makes the morning gentle.

You are not invisible.
You are not “too much.”
You are not required to be the emotional climate for everyone.

You learned how to hold because no one held you long enough.

You became the steady one
because steadiness felt safer than need.

But even mountains erode.
Even oceans rest between tides.
Even the moon disappears once a month
to gather herself in the dark.

And even in the dark,
there are forests that glow.

There are rivers that shimmer from within.
There are wings that carry their own quiet light.

Bioluminescence does not shout.
It does not beg to be seen.
It simply radiates
because that is its nature.

What if your softness was like that?
Not fragile.
Not dim.
But self-lit.

What if you did not have to earn your exhale?

What if there was a place
where you were not the therapist,
not the mother,
not the mediator,
not the strong one.

Just a woman.
With a nervous system.
With softness that deserves protection.
With a glow that does not depend on effort.

You do not need to impress here.
You do not need to explain your depth.
You do not need to shrink your intuition
so others feel comfortable.

Here, the garden glows gently around you.
Fireflies rise without urgency.
Butterflies carry light across the dusk.
The air hums low and warm.

You are allowed to be held
without performing gratitude for it.

You are allowed to rest
without proving exhaustion.

You are allowed to want
without apologizing for need.

If something in you has been tired—
of being the emotional anchor,
of being the wise one,
of being the safe one—

let this be a quieter threshold.

Not a stage.

Not a demand.

Just a place
where the one who holds everyone
can set the world down for a moment.

Where her glow is met by glow.
Where her nervous system is not bracing.
Where light does not burn —
it breathes.

And feel arms around her
that do not ask for anything back.

Be held.

Just for once.