No more hush, just healing.
Every soft word I speak over my daughter is a balm to the places I was once silenced. Every prayer I whisper is heard by the God who always listened, even when no one else did.
🌿 Only Jesus can restore the broken-hearted.
I used to think healing would feel like rising — like victory, like soaring.
But the truth is, healing first felt like falling.
Falling into memories I tried to outrun.
Falling into patterns I swore I’d never repeat.
Falling into the ache of motherhood, where the weight of what I never received crashed into what I longed to give.
It wasn’t until I held my daughter in my arms that I realized how much I’d never been held.
Not really.
Not in the way that quiets a storm.
Not in the way that sees past the tantrum to the trembling.
Not in the way that says, You don’t have to earn this love — you just are.
And suddenly, I wasn’t just a mother. I was a child again — with needs I had buried and wounds I had dressed in silence.
🕊️ Please Don’t Hush Me
A lullaby the child wrote back
I didn’t ask for diamonds,
didn’t dream of gold.
Just a lap to lean on,
just a hand to hold.
Didn’t need a mockingbird
to quiet down the cries —
just someone to meet me
with softness in their eyes.
I would’ve brought a flower,
a crumpled, broken stem,
if it meant your voice would
turn sweet again.
You sang of hush
but meant be still,
be small, be quiet,
bend to will.
But hush never helped
when my heart raced fast.
Hush only taught me
the noise wouldn’t last.
So I held it all in,
tucked it down deep,
taught myself silence
when I needed to weep.
I didn’t want treasures
or castles or crowns.
Just someone to notice
when my world fell down.
I would’ve given anything
for one look that stayed,
for arms that softened
when I was afraid.
If I had the words then,
I might’ve said —
don’t hush me,
just hold my head.
Don’t buy me a song,
don’t cover the sound.
Just sit in the silence
and stay around.
Please —
don’t let my heart break
just to keep things quiet.
Let my tears be safe,
not something to hide yet.
I didn’t need perfect.
I just needed near.
Not hush.
Just hear.
I wrote those words as an adult, but they came from the child version of me — the little girl I spent most of my life trying to silence.
She still shows up sometimes. Especially now that I’m a mother. Especially in the moments when I feel overwhelmed, and I’m not sure if I’m comforting my baby or reaching back in time to comfort myself.
For so long, I minimized what I went through. I called it “just the way things were.”
I made excuses. I took the blame. And when I couldn’t explain it, I spiritualized it.
But deep down, I knew. There were things I needed that I didn’t get.
Love that was conditional.
Affection that was confusing.
Words that were sharp when I needed softness.
And silence that taught me my voice didn’t matter.
It wasn’t until I held my daughter — felt the weight of her, the warmth of her, heard her cries — that something cracked open in me.
Because suddenly, I couldn’t lie to myself anymore.
Not when I was looking into the eyes of someone who deserved gentleness.
And realizing for the first time how much I had, too.
This is what motherhood has done to me.
It’s resurrected the wounds I buried and invited me to finally tell the truth.
But more than that — it’s driven me deeper into my walk with Jesus.
Because no amount of self-awareness or reflection could heal what only He could touch.
Only Jesus could hold the child in me and show me she was never too much.
Only Jesus could sit with me in the memories I thought I’d buried and whisper, “I saw you. I never turned away.”
And when I wanted to give up — to give into bitterness or numbness or shame — He reminded me that I was chosen not just to mother, but to redeem a legacy through Him.
✨ No more hush. Just healing. Just Jesus.
This is how legacy begins to shift.
This is how I begin to mother the child in me while raising the daughter in front of me.
And this is how I finally say —
Just healing.
Just Jesus.
🌾 Reflection
What stories did you silence to survive?
What would the little girl in you say if she knew it was safe to speak?
Jesus is not afraid of your voice. He’s already been listening.
🌬️ Holy Exhale
Our precious Savior is saying to you:
“You never had to hush to be loved.
I saw you.
I still see you.
And I am making all things new.”
Exhale: I am healing.