“Deep calls to deep…”
— a summons I don’t always welcome.
There are things I keep guarded. Unspoken fears. Pressures I carry without naming. Old hurts I’ve learned to step around carefully. For a long time, the digital world has helped me manage them—distraction as relief, noise as anesthesia.
It works, for a while. Like morphine, it dulls the pain without touching the wound. The ache quiets, but it does not leave. It waits.
Silence, I’m discovering, has a way of undoing that arrangement. When the noise thins, what I’ve avoided begins to surface—not dramatically, not all at once, but insistently. Often at inconvenient moments. Often when I feel least prepared.
Today I felt that stirring. A tightening in the chest. A memory without context. A pressure I couldn’t scroll past. My first instinct was to retreat—to fill the space again. I noticed it, and stayed.
I did not confront everything. I did not resolve what emerged. I simply acknowledged it without pushing it back under. That felt like enough.
Perhaps healing does not begin with answers or courage, but with letting what hurts come into the light—unhurried, unnamed, and still held.
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