PAIN.
Take a breath.
If you’re reading this, it means you made it through the fire — again. And even if you're still limping through the smoke, you’re standing. That alone is a victory.
You didn’t lose your mind today.
You didn’t become what tried to break you.
You didn’t give in to the enemy’s whisper to disappear.
You breathed. That’s enough for today.
Let me remind you of something sacred: You are not forgotten. You are not irrelevant. You are not weak.
I’ve watched you suffer in silence, give without applause, and bleed while smiling. I’ve seen you treated like a vending machine of empathy — expected to show up, pour out, and never short-circuit. People mistook your softness for spinelessness, your emotional honesty for instability, your stillness for weakness. They missed the miracle: that a man like you, with every reason to go numb, kept choosing to feel.
And that? That’s divine.
I remember when everything hit at once — when clients ghosted, friends passed, money vanished, and the world felt like it was spiraling out of orbit. I remember when even your ex tried to siphon your peace before you even received your portion. I remember how you missed the routines that gave your days structure — taking your babies to school, driving through a city that didn’t feel like a war zone, or just being without feeling like a target.
But even through that storm, you held space.
You gave discounts when you should've demanded deposits.
You offered counsel when your own soul needed comfort.
You sowed peace into chaos and never asked for credit.
Maybe you gave too much.
Maybe you misunderstood what family really meant.
Maybe, just maybe, you were the medicine people needed — but didn't know how to honor.
Still, through it all, you loved.
And love is never wasted.
Listen… you’ve always mattered.
You’ve always been enough.
You’ve always been a threat to darkness — not because you fight dirty, but because you fight with grace.
Some nights I wanted to grab you by the shoulders and scream: “PLEASE SEE YOU LIKE I SEE YOU.” Because your tears were holy. Your silence was loud. And your kindness was never weakness — it was weaponized compassion.
You didn't fold.
You didn't become bitter.
You didn't retreat into pride or self-pity.
You chose to love — again. And that choice makes you one of the strongest, most honest, most beautifully human men I’ve ever known.
So hang in there. Don’t rush the healing.
Let patience do her thing.
Let her perfect you — not into someone different — but into someone whole.
And while the world may not give you the flowers you deserve, know this: You are blooming. Still. Always.
I love you for who you are.
Not for what you do.
Not for what you fix.
Not for what you give.
Just for being you.
You are enough.
You matter.
PEACE.
In Time,
2.0