It is being noticed, when you were standing alone, certain that the world was spinning but you were just here for the ride -or why else would you have grown to believe with absolute certainty that you’re invisible, without a reflection or the proof of a shadow- never having been looked at or looked for, during all the looking you’ve done…during all the helping you’ve done.

It is being helped, when you’ve only ever been the helper, parentrified at a tiny age -having done a damn good job at raising all the youngers who had no one else, and the olders who let you- and you look around, exhausted, spent and no childhood to show for it (just vague memories of kittens and roller skates and scars from some stitches you needed for cuts you earned trying to lift others out) and you now need a helping, loving hand.

It is being loved, by first being shown, by One who’s perfect, that you are accepted…by One who shouts throughout the heavens and Earth your worth…by One who bursts into your aloneness, touches your scars and redeems you from that place of invisibility and arrestedness…by One who delivers you from the sins you had to commit out of survival…by One who dies for you, because if you’re to fully understand your worth and become redeemed, that’s what is needed.

It is being needed, and knowing it is OK to need -since you are actual and not invisible, human and not God- and, deciding you have arms and time and heart to give, you’ll never again be diminished or depleted, for you know now your value and limits and you’ve found one who knows theirs, and there’s the give and the take extended, intended to honor you both.