Hey,
If you're here,
You're probably the one who holds it all together,
The one people lean on even when you're empty.
Your body made it to bed,
But your heart is still walking through other people's rooms.
Caregiver fatigue is real.
Tonight we're not taking your love away,
We're just giving it a place to rest.
Get as comfortable as you can,
On your back or on your side,
Whatever feels honest tonight.
Let your jaw loosen,
Tongue heavy,
Shoulders dropping toward the bed like two bags finally put down.
Chest soft,
Belly easy.
If it's safe,
Let your eyes close.
We'll use the same simple breath in 4,
Out 8,
Then let the breath move how it wants.
Nothing to fix,
You are off duty here.
Feel the edges of your room blur.
By your bed a small wooden door appears,
Old wood,
Brass handle,
Tiny bell above it.
This is the night shop,
A quiet place at the edge of sleep where you pick up what you need for the kind of night you're having.
In your mind reach for the handle,
Cool metal,
Easy breath in.
As you breathe out,
The door opens and the bell gives one soft note.
You step inside,
Tonight there is one thing waiting for you,
A wrap,
Soft and warm,
Draped across the counter like it remembers every tired shoulder.
This is the hearth wrap,
Armor for the caregiver's heart.
You lift it with both hands,
Gentle weight,
Like a hug you don't have to earn.
Along the edge you see stitching,
The words slowly come into focus.
I can love you without lifting you tonight.
Let that sentence land in your chest,
On your necks and breath whisper it inside.
I can love you without lifting you tonight.
As you breathe out,
Place the wrap over your shoulders and across your chest.
The light of the shop softens around you and when it settles,
You are standing in a small night house,
A short hallway stretches ahead,
Quiet doors on both sides with a thin line of light under each one.
This is the house of quiet doors,
Each door holding a piece of someone you care for.
Tonight,
You don't rush in and fix every room,
You walk the hallway with your heart wrapped.
Out you step toward the first door,
The hearth wrap rests across your chest,
Warm and steady,
Your palm on the wood.
In four,
I can love you without lifting you tonight.
Out eight,
As you exhale,
The light under the door softens,
The ache in your chest loosens a little,
Now let the next few doors be silent practice.
See yourself moving slowly down the hall,
Breath steady,
Wrap warm,
Blessing each room without stepping inside.
Farther down the hallway there is one last door,
No light underneath,
Your name written on it in small letters.
This room is yours,
You open it slowly,
Inside there is a small bed,
Soft covers and more quiet than you are used to.
You sit on the edge with the hearth wrapped still around your shoulders,
Notice your real body in your real bed,
Jaw softer,
Shoulders heavier,
Chest not gripping so hard.
If you're still awake enough,
Whisper the mantra once more inside yourself,
I can love you without lifting you tonight.
Your love is still real,
Your rest is part of that love,
When you lie down in this room,
No one else comes in for a while,
Because a rest to do is the greatest gift you can bring them tomorrow.
Now,
Let your body sink a little deeper into the bed,
Let the hearth wrap be the only weight you feel,
If sleep comes,
Let it take you,
If not yet,
Just rest here.
