For the One Who Made the Heavy Days Light
In a year I now call beautiful,
where memories gather like warm light,
there was a door I often entered
with trembling hands and swollen eyes.
And behind that door,
there you were.
Not with judgment,
not with hurried counsel,
but with a chair gently pulled closer
and a voice that said,
“Sit. You’re safe here.”
You were more than a counselor—
you were steady ground
when my thoughts were storms.
You were a soft place to land
when my heart did not know
where else to fall.
I cried in your presence
without shame.
Words spilled out—messy,
confused, unfiltered—
and you gathered them
like they were fragile glass,
handling each piece with care.
You saw me
when I could barely see myself.
You heard what I could not yet say.
You welcomed me
on days I felt unworthy
of welcome.
When my mind was restless,
when my emotions rose and crashed
like waves I could not control,
you did not grow tired of me.
You checked in.
You followed up.
You remembered.
In hallways filled with pressure
and expectations too loud for my soul,
you became quiet assurance—
a reminder that my mental health mattered,
that my tears were not weakness,
that I was not “too much.”
Looking back at that year now,
I see how many beautiful things happened—
achievements, milestones, growth—
but hidden within all of them
was your steady kindness,
holding me together
when I felt undone.
Some people shape your résumé.
Others shape your resilience.
You shaped mine.
And though time has carried me forward,
though I now stand steadier on my own,
a part of my strength
still traces back
to the office where I learned
that vulnerability is not defeat—
it is courage.
Thank you
for mothering my fragile seasons,
for guarding my unseen battles,
for making the heavy days lighter.
I will always remember
that in one of the most formative years of my life,
God placed someone in my path
who made me feel
welcomed,
heard,
and deeply seen.