By Rhema
Sometimes, healing doesn’t come from therapy rooms or long conversations.
Sometimes, it’s found in a quiet room,
in the gentle weight of a hand wrapping around yours
just when your mind feels like it’s falling apart.
This poem is about one of those quiet moments,
where everything changed, not with a shout,
but with a touch.
When Holding A Hand Was the Breakthrough My Mind Needed
I didn’t say I was drowning.
But I was.
In my own thoughts.
In the noise no one else could hear.
I smiled like everything was fine.
But inside,
I was holding pieces of myself
and calling it strength.
Then you reached for my hand.
Soft, steady,
like you weren’t trying to fix me,
just to be there.
Your fingers found mine,
and suddenly,
the world wasn’t so loud.
My chest loosened.
My breathing slowed.
I felt seen.
Not with eyes,
but with presence.
You didn’t say much.
You didn’t have to.
Your hand said,
“I’m here.”
And that was enough
to hold me together for one more day.
A Gentle Note
If you’re carrying more than you can name,
I hope someone reaches for you too.
And if not, may you still hold on.
Sometimes, the softest gestures
carry the strongest healing.
If you or someone you know is struggling with mental health symptoms, speak up. Ask questions. Seek help. Listen deeply.
