By Sori Magid

I sat in therapy today

with yesterday’s class still echoing—

words about relationship,

about God not as ledger

but as presence.

And something in me cracked open.

Because I grew up taking in messages

that if I was good, I’d be loved.

If I did the right thing, I’d be blessed.

If I struggled, I was doing something wrong.

If I disappointed, I might lose closeness.

So I learned relationships

as effort,

as pleasing,

as earning my place,

as staying careful enough

not to lose love.

So I became careful.

I became striving.

I became a child

trying to be perfect enough

to deserve warmth.

And underneath it all

lived the quieter wound:

Maybe I am not worthy.

Not just of God.

Of love.

Of ease.

Of being chosen

without proving.

So when goodness comes now,

it does not only comfort me.

It changes the meaning

of the word relationship.

A kindness tells me

love may not need to be earned.

Care tells me

I can be held without performing.

Steadiness tells me

closeness might survive imperfection.

Receiving tells me

I do not have to pay

for every good thing.

And I understand now

why receiving can shake me.

It is not only letting something in.

It is undoing

everything I thought love was.

But maybe healing

is not becoming perfect enough

to finally be loved.

Maybe healing

is learning that God was never a transaction,

that love was never wages,

that I was never a debt to repay.

Maybe healing

is letting goodness enter slowly,

and teaching the frightened places in me:

Relationship can mean rest.

Relationship can mean truth.

Relationship can mean staying.

You do not have to earn

what was always meant

to hold you.