To the One Holding What Words Cannot Yet Reach

Dear friend,

Some things don’t sprout in the sunlight.

They grow in the dark.

In the quiet of early morning. In the wake of dreams that linger longer than they should. In the ache of remembering something that hasn’t fully left, and perhaps never will. In the body, long before the mind can name it.

You’ve been carrying more than you can explain.

I know your tenderness isn’t new—it’s simply louder right now. More awake.

I see how memory circles back, uninvited yet persistent. How its fragments tug at you—the tone of a voice, the breath in a moment, a simple exchange, the hush of care so subtle it almost vanishes.

You want to close your eyes and return to it.

Not to change it. Just to feel it again. To gather what meaning, if any, still lives there. But here’s the thing:

You don’t have to make sense of it all to honor it.

You don’t have to rush the story into something it’s not ready to become. Sometimes, what you’re feeling is the truth—even if it never becomes words. Even if it stays just under the surface. Even if no one else ever sees how deep it goes.

There is nothing wrong with how long you’re holding this.

With how often it comes back. With how it still lives in your breath, in your dreams, in your bones. There is nothing wrong with how slowly clarity unwraps itself within you.

This is the kind of growing that happens in the dark.

The kind that shapes you gently, even when you can’t yet see how. Even when it hurts. Even when it lingers.

So stay with yourself here.

Let the ache be holy.

Let the memory be enough.

Let the not-knowing be just as tender.

You are metabolizing something real.

And the truth is buoyant.

It will always rise to the surface when it’s ready.

With you in the quiet in-between,

Practice Postscript

The Reflection:

• What am I metabolizing right now just beneath the surface of my everyday life?

• What has been quietly growing in me? What stories or emotions are rising that I haven’t fully named—but that are asking for space?

• What memory has been asking to be held, not solved?

• Where in my life am I trying to be tidy, when what I truly need is to be honest?

The Everyday Practice:

Light a candle or sit somewhere with low, soft light.

Close your eyes and bring to mind one moment that keeps returning. Instead of dissecting it or trying to understand it, simply ask:

What did this stir in me that still wants to be felt?

Let sensation lead. Release the story.

Gently witness your body’s sensations—let them move, shift, tighten, soften, pulse, etc. You are not asking this felt sense to explain itself. Only to speak.

Simply allow the sensations to be witnessed by you as they move through you.

This is how we actually feel.

Living in the Questions:

• What if I allow this moment to change me?

• What if I’m not behind in my healing at all—only becoming more honest with my depth?

• What if the most sacred things we carry are the ones still being metabolized?