When the Healer Starts to Tremble - by Olaoluwa Akinsola

Some people call it kindness.Some call it duty.Some just call it being that person-the one who always shows up, even cracked, even crying inside,still clapping for everyone else.I used to wear that title like armor.Like a crown.Like ewę-beauty, sculpted from bruises.But tell me-how do you pour from a vessel that has been whispering for weeks, "I'm tired." in tongues even you forgot how to hear?I was the soft place people landed.The first text sent when life crumbled.The bridge others crossed to healing.But me?I was always the land, never the traveler.Always the bridge, never the journey.I gave chesed-compassion, mercy, loyalty-even when I had none left for myself.I said Hineni-"Here I am"when I wasn't.I became a walking psalm.A human hallelujah.But no one noticed when the hymn turned into a hush.My body once told me: "This kindness is killing us." In a voice softer than a hymn,stronger than a scream.And still-I showed up.Until I didn't. In Hebrew, nephesh means "soul"-but it also means self, throat, breath. In Greek, psyche meant "soul" too-but also butterfly: fragile, fluttering,easily crushed beneath too much weight. I had forgotten I was wings.Kept pretending I was stone. In Yoruba, we say:“Tí aberę bá fo, kó kó elòmíràn ní lé.”"If the needle is broken, it cannot sew for others." And yet I was breaking.Still trying to sew everyone's story together.So I paused.Not forever.Just long enough to remember the sound of my own laugh.The way I stretch in the morning without guilt.The joy of not picking up every call.Of saying no without a sermon.Of resting without the ache of apology. Even the gods rested.Even Nyx, goddess of night, cloaked herself in shadows to be alone.Even Gaia, Earth herself, quaked when too much was asked of her.And above them all-Elohim, the Almighty, whose breath gave life itself-chose stillness.He rested.Not out of weakness, but out of divine example.Why do you think you must burn endlessly?Now, I still show up-but not bleeding.I still give-but not gasping.Because I'm not just a giver.I am a soul.A breath.A body.A nephesh.A psyche.A sacred thing.So if you're like me,if you've been the light, the balm, the healer, the fixer-may this be your reminder:You are allowed to tremble.You are allowed to be human.You are allowed to rest.Not just once.Every day.In every little way.And you don't have to apologize for it.Yours in softness, Laolu ❤️

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