Physician | Author | Animal Lover
I lay it down—
this weight I’ve carried in silence,
the hush of what was never spoken,
the tender burden tucked beneath the day.
I lay it down
as one might offer a thread of gold
to the edge of the sea—
not to cast away,
but to entrust.
You are wrought of oceans—
not of mere water,
but of the hush between waves,
of tides that rise to the call of unseen stars.
Within you, the salt of memory lingers—
not sorrow, but the sacred trace of becoming,
gathered grain by grain
in the cathedral of your silence.
Still, you shine.
Even in eclipse,
your depths cradle light
the way night cradles the moon.
There are moments when language fails you—when a single word, clinical and cold, is offered not as comfort, but as containment. It arrives quietly, cloaked in certainty, yet heavy with implication. A diagnosis. A name for the unknown. And in its naming, the subtle danger: that you might forget who you are beyond it.
But you must remember—
You are more than a diagnosis.
They say laughter lowers cortisol,
that a smile—however faint—
can tilt the chemistry of the mind,
turning stress into something
the body can release.
Joy, it seems, is not merely an emotion—
it is a physiological event.
A quiet rebalancing.
A shift in the inner atmosphere.
A single moment of delight
can soften the heart’s cadence,
loosen the breath,
invite light into places long dimmed.
Endorphins rise,
the immune system stirs,
and the weight of the day
grows mercifully lighter.
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