You ever okay till that hot water hits and everything you been holding in just lets go?

Like your body finally gets permission to stop pretending. The steam fills the room, the noise drowns out the world, and there’s nowhere left to perform strength. The tears mix with the water so no one can tell how much you’re actually carrying. All the “I’m fine,” all the swallowed words, all the quiet survival you’ve been doing—it slips out of you and runs down the drain.

And for a few minutes, you don’t have to explain it.
You don’t have to be brave or productive or grateful.
You just stand there, breathing, unraveling, letting the warmth hold what you couldn’t anymore.