Poem – When I finally turned toward myself
When I finally turned toward myself
There was a morning when I realised the world
was not asking me to hold it all.
The light came in quietly,
touching the edges of the room,
and for the first time in a long while,
I felt something soften inside my own chest —
a small surrender,
like a tired bird laying down its wings.
I had spent years leaning toward others,
offering warmth, carrying weight,
forgetting that my own body was also a place
that needed tending.
So I placed a hand there —
gently, without urgency — and waited.
At first, nothing. Then a single breath rose to meet my palm,
as if my heart had been waiting for this permission.
It was enough. Enough to know that care does not diminish
when turned inward.
Enough to know that kindness is not a river that runs dry
when it circles back to its source.
That day, I walked a little slower.
I loosened the grip on all the invisible bundles I had been carrying for years.
And when the old guilt rose — the familiar whisper
that self-care was selfish — I let it pass
like a shadow moving across water.
The truth was quieter and deeper:
I am allowed to rest. I am allowed to receive.
I am allowed to be held by my own hands.
And the world did not collapse. It didn’t even tremble.
It simply opened a little wider as I stepped back into myself —
not to escape anyone, but to belong to my own life
in the same way I had always belonged to others.
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