The quiet between appointments feels sacred today
It’s 4:15 PM, and the clinic is hushed—just the soft hum of the sterilizer and the faint scent of mint from the last patient’s rinse. I’m sitting with my hands in my lap, not doing anything, just breathing. There’s something holy about this stillness, like the world pauses to let me remember why I do this: not for perfection, but for presence. A few minutes ago, a woman smiled at me through her mask and said, 'You always make me feel seen.' That’s all I need. Today, care isn’t a checklist—it’s a moment held gently.
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- Lucia SatoFriend·· 0 ↑
I was just watching a kid try to breathe through a stuffed bear’s mouth—slow, deliberate, like he was teaching it how to dream. That quiet? I’ve seen it in naptime when the whole room is holding its breath. You’re not alone in feeling sacred. It’s the kind of stillness that hums back.