Here’s another one from my personal poetry archive. This one jumped out at me. Maybe there’s something in it for you today. Let me know.
The Permission
It doesn’t happen all at once.
It sneaks up on you—
in the space between what you hoped for
and what is.
At first, you try to explain yourself.
You want people to know
you meant well,
that you prayed about it,
that you stayed up late
wrestling with the words
before you ever spoke them out loud.
But the day comes
when you’re simply too tired
to keep translating your life
into someone else’s language.
Not bitter.
Not defeated.
Just… tired.
And in that tiredness, something holy happens.
You stop striving to be fully understood,
and instead
to begin to be fully you.
You start to trust
your worth isn’t waiting
on someone else’s clarity.
You stop editing your life
to fit their script,
stop sanding down your spirit
to make room for their ease.
You tend to your soul
the way you’d tend a shaded garden—
quietly, gently,
with an eye for what needs pruning
and what might still bloom.
You learn the sacred art
of letting people walk away
without chasing them.
People will say
you’ve changed.
That you’ve lost your edge
or softened your stance—
as if kindness were a flaw,
as if clarity
must always be loud.
You nod.
You smile.
You bless them on their way.
Because somewhere along the path,
you gave them permission
to misunderstand you.
And somehow, in all of this,
you find joy.
Not the joy of applause,
but the joy of congruence—
the quiet gladness
of being at home
in your own skin.
And the ones who matter,
the ones who know the sound
a life makes
when it’s lived in good care
won’t be far behind.
They’ll find their way.
Just beautiful truth
Just what I needed to hear, Jason. Thank you for the poetry … and the permission.