Hold me

I’ve always loved being held—fully, completely, without time limits or hesitation. If a partner could hold me for hours, I would melt into every minute of it. The desire feels endless, like no amount of closeness could ever be quite enough.

And I miss it.
Not casually, but from the deepest parts of me—my heart, my body, my soul.
But I don’t want to be held by just anyone. I want to be held in love. In truth. In safety. In compassion.
By arms that carry integrity as much as they carry me.

When I was a child, my father would hold me, and my entire being would relax. My little body knew it didn’t have to hold itself up in those moments. I can still remember pretending to fall asleep just so he would carry me to bed—just so I could stay in that feeling a little longer.

That longing to be held has lived inside me for as long as I’ve known myself.

But recently, something softened in my understanding. I realized I had been limiting the ways I allowed myself to feel held. I was waiting for human arms when life had been holding me all along.

Spirit holds me.
God holds me.
Life holds me.

And the moment I truly realized that, something inside me exhaled. I understood that if I wanted to feel held, I had to stop holding myself so tightly. I had to allow, not force. Receive, not brace.

So I softened.
I accessed safety.
I accessed surrender.
I opened my heart and leaned back into the unseen support that has been there my whole life.

It brought me right back to that childhood feeling—the way I used to pretend sleep so I could be carried. Except this time, I wasn’t pretending anything. This time, I was awake. Awake and open, head tilted back, soul exposed, trusting life enough to let it carry me.

And in that surrender, I finally felt held again.