The Pieces We Carry

Maya sat quietly in her car, parked just outside the grocery store. The world moved around her—people pushing carts, kids laughing, someone arguing on the phone. But inside her car, it was still. Too still.

She had come to buy milk. Just milk. But the weight of everything she was carrying made even that feel impossible.

It wasn’t just the grief of losing her father last year. Or the anxiety that crept in every time her phone buzzed. It was the accumulation of a thousand tiny pieces—unspoken words, unmet expectations, the guilt of not being “okay” when everyone else seemed to be managing just fine.

She stared at her reflection in the rearview mirror. Tired eyes. A forced smile. And then, as if whispered from somewhere deep within, she remembered something she had read earlier that week:

"Be gentle with yourself. You're doing the best you can with the pieces you're still learning to hold."

Tears welled up—not from sadness, but from relief. Because for the first time in a long time, she gave herself permission to not have it all together.

⸻

That night, Maya sat on her bed with her journal open. She didn’t write much. Just a prayer.

“Jesus, I don’t know how to carry all of this. But I know You do. Help me hold what I can, and surrender what I can’t.”

And in that quiet moment, she felt it—not a solution, not a fix, but a presence. A peace that didn’t make sense. A reminder that healing isn’t about perfection, it’s about presence—and His presence is always enough.

Sometimes, the most courageous thing you can do is be kind to yourself. Healing isn’t about speed—it’s about surrender. And in the hands of Jesus, even broken pieces become part of a beautiful story.