There is a multitude of mornings
where rising feels like rust,
where the sky hangs heavy
and your thoughts collect dust.
But healing is a quiet visitor—
it knocks in small, soft ways:
a breath that doesn’t tremble,
a moment that gently stays.
You learn to trust your heartbeat,
to honor every ache,
to piece together broken parts
that once felt like mistake.
A multitude of sorrows
has shaped the way you bend,
yet a multitude of mercies
waits just beyond the end.
So gather every fragile hope,
the ones you thought you lost—
healing doesn’t come for free,
but neither does it cost.
It grows with patient courage,
with truths you dare to say:
“I am worthy of my softness,
and I will find my way.”
And in this multitude of moments,
you rediscover something true—
that even in your darkest hour,
light still remembers you.
Therapy Bits 
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