Let Yourself Be Held: Healing Series Part III

Healing Series: A Note from one SisterFriend to Another

Healing is not something we’re meant to figure out alone. This three-part series, “On Healing in Community,” is a gentle invitation to remember that connection, rest, and being held are all part of our healing story.

These reflections are written especially with Black, Brown, and Indigenous women in mind—women who carry so much, love so deeply, and are often asked to be strong before they are allowed to be human. My hope is that as you read, you feel seen, and reminded that you are worthy of care, not because you’ve earned it, but because you exist.

Settle in with your journal, take a breath, and move through each post at your own pace. May you feel your healing supported by community, by rest, and by the love that surrounds you.

SisterFriend Reflection: You are worthy of care even when you have nothing to give.

Many of us know how to show up for others. We are the ones people call when they need prayer, advice, a ride, a little extra money, a listening ear. We are skilled at holding space, at staying strong, at being the “reliable one.”

But somewhere along the way, we learned that our role is to hold—not to be held. Asking for help feels dangerous. We worry about being a burden, about losing respect, about confirming the lie that we are “too much.” So we fold our pain into neat corners and tell ourselves we can handle it alone.

The truth is, no one was meant to carry everything by themselves. Even the strongest tree needs a forest around it—a shared root system, shelter from the wind, protection from the elements. In the same way, your spirit needs people who can sit with you in your mess without asking you to hurry up and be okay.

Letting yourself be held does not make you weak. It makes you honest. It allows your nervous system to unclench for a moment. It gives your heart a chance to remember what it feels like to be supported, not just responsible.

Sometimes being held looks like letting a friend bring you dinner instead of insisting you’re fine. Sometimes it looks like telling the truth in therapy, or letting yourself cry on the phone instead of swallowing the tears. Sometimes it simply means saying, “I’m not okay today,” and allowing the silence that follows to be holy instead of embarrassing.

You deserve relationships where you do not have to earn tenderness. Where your needs are not an inconvenience, but an opportunity for love to move in your direction. You are worthy of that kind of care, even when you feel empty, tired, or unsure of what to do next.