She is no longer invited everywhere... but she has learned to invite herself into her own life.
Once, her presence was awaited at every table, at every gathering. Her laughter was welcome, her stories had a place. Her company was cherished.
Over time, the invitations slowly faded. It wasn’t sudden, but gentle. Distance arrived quietly.
People remembered her... but afterward. They reached out... but later. The affection remained, though from afar.
So she stopped waiting for others to make space for her. She decided to create her own.
She sets the table for her soul, gifts herself flowers in gratitude for her presence. She walks through the colorful market aisles, choosing fruits and vegetables like precious jewels.
She invites herself into each new day, welcomes the fresh air, bathes in the light pouring through her window.
Today, though not present everywhere, she has found a home within her own silence. She feels good in her favorite corner, accompanied by her cup of tea.
She has invited herself into her own life.
And there, she is truly well.
I don't know the artist of the painting, but I love it.
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