Through the Fog

Tag: trust

  • What it’s Like to Be Seen

    It’s strange what happens when someone really sees you.

    Not the version you’ve practiced, not the one that smiles on cue or says, “I’m fine,” even when you’re falling apart — but the real you. The one you keep hidden behind sarcasm, behind busyness, behind the stories you tell to keep people from asking too many questions.

    Being seen feels terrifying at first.

    Because it means someone is looking past the armor you’ve spent years building. It means your flaws are showing, your scars are visible, and the truth you’ve tried so hard to bury is standing in the open, trembling in the light.

    But it’s also freeing.

    Because when someone looks at you and doesn’t turn away — when they stay, even after seeing the cracks — it changes something inside you.

    You start to believe maybe you’re not too much.

    Maybe you don’t have to hide to be loved.

    Being seen isn’t about attention; it’s about being understood.

    It’s when someone looks at you and doesn’t just see the surface — they see the story. The pain. The strength. The fight it took to still be here.

    And for a moment, you feel weightless.

    Because for once, you’re not performing —

    you’re just you.

    And that’s enough.

  • Grace in the Now

    God lives inside you—

    you already found Him.

    In the quiet refusal to give up.

    In the breath you took

    when quitting would’ve been easier.

    In the part of you that still reaches

    for light

    even with shaking hands.

    You keep looking outward,

    as if holiness only exists

    somewhere far away,

    but grace has been pacing your chest

    this whole time,

    patient,

    unimpressed by your doubt.

    The devil lives in memories.

    In the old scenes he replays

    until they feel prophetic.

    In the nights he convinces you

    that what hurt you once

    gets to define you forever.

    He doesn’t need claws or fire.

    He just hounds you

    with what already happened.

    With words you can’t unsay.

    With moments you survived

    but never forgave yourself for.

    God doesn’t shout over that noise.

    He waits.

    In the present.

    In the now.

    In the choice to stop letting yesterday

    put its hands around your throat.

    You aren’t lost.

    You’re distracted by echoes.

    And every time you choose this moment—

    every time you stay—

    you loosen the devil’s grip

    and remember where God has been

    all along.

    Inside you.