Peace Is Your Birthright

This morning, I didn’t force anything.

I got a few jobs done around the house—nothing major, just enough to feel cared for. Then I sat outside in the sun for an hour, listening to music. Not because I should. Not because I was chasing anything. Just because it felt right.

And what I noticed was this quiet kind of peace. Not the type that hits like a wave and pulls you under—this was different. It felt earned. Integrated. Like it had been there all along, waiting for me to slow down and meet it.

I used to worry that peace like this was dangerous. That it might mean I was about to swing the other way. That if I let myself trust it, I might be setting myself up to fall. I’ve felt that before—the manic high disguised as serenity. It’s a tricky thing.

But this isn’t that. This isn’t floating above myself. It’s being in myself. With my feet on the floor. With my music playing. With my body feeling like a home.

And even the small choices—like wearing a shirt that feels more me, even if I haven’t had the confidence to wear it out before—add up to something meaningful. That shirt, that hour in the sun, that unhurried movement through the day… they’re not big declarations. They’re soft affirmations. Gentle reminders that I don’t need to earn peace by proving anything.

Because peace, I’m learning, isn’t a prize.
It’s a birthright.
And I’m finally starting to claim it.