Behind the Door

Behind the Door

Most people see the smile the genuine heart, the laughter that fills a room, the presence that makes others feel safe.

But not too close to the door, please.

That door holds the parts of me I don’t show often  the hurt, the pain, the unanswered prayers, and the quiet battles that taught me how to survive.

It’s where I learned to become the superhero I needed, because no one ever came to rescue me.

So I built my own strength.

I wiped my own tears.

I prayed my own way through the dark.

And while everyone saw the light that came from it, few ever saw what it cost to keep shining.

Behind the door is where I learned to show up even when I didn’t feel seen. It’s where I learned to smile when my heart was breaking, to lead when I wanted to hide, and to love people who didn’t always love back the same way.

But here’s the truth: when you spend years showing up for everyone else, you start to wonder  often Who shows up for me?

Who knows me beyond the smile and the big heart?

Who sees the woman behind the door, the one who keeps holding it together because she’s afraid of what will happen if it falls apart?

I used to think keeping the door closed made me strong. That if I kept it locked tight enough, no one would see the cracks. But now I understand even the more that real strength doesn’t come from hiding the pain; it comes from healing it.

Sometimes, God has to meet you behind that door not to expose what’s there, but to restore it. He steps into the quiet, the chaos, the questions, and whispers, “You were never meant to do this alone.”

And slowly, I’ve started to open that door not to everyone, but enough to let grace in. Enough to breathe. Enough to remind myself that I don’t always have to be the hero.

Because sometimes, even the strongest ones need saving too.

K.W.