I used to think peace meant nothing could get to me anymore.

Turns out that was just exhaustion wearing church clothes.

There’s a difference.

Peace still feels.

It gets angry.

It grieves.

It misses people it knows it shouldn’t call.

It worries about the kids.

It lies awake sometimes wondering whether the decision was right.

It can sit beside somebody who’s hurting without trying to turn their pain into a fucking life lesson.

Numbness is different.

Numbness says, I don’t care.

Peace says, I care deeply. I’m just not letting this destroy everything else I love.

That took me a while to understand.

Maybe because some of us got very good at functioning while hurt.

Go to work.

Pay the bills.

Protect the family.

Handle the emergency.

Make the joke.

Keep moving.

People call you strong long enough and eventually you start believing strength means never letting anybody see the weight.

It doesn’t.

Sometimes strength is admitting:

Yeah. That hurt.

And then refusing to build your entire identity around what hurt you.

Faith never promised me anesthesia.

It gave me somewhere to put the things I couldn’t carry forever.

That’s different too.

I still get pissed off.

I still worry.

I still remember.

I still have days when something old knocks on the door.

But it doesn’t get a key anymore.

Maybe peace isn’t finally becoming untouchable.

Maybe it’s being completely human—

and no longer being owned by every feeling that passes through you.

PEACE STILL FEELS.

It just doesn’t surrender the house.

SAINT DIRTY FACE™
Imperfect on Purpose. Faithful with Fangs.