If You Were a Waiting Room, Who Would Sit There?

 

This is not a piece that offers solutions. Nor is it wise advice trying to sound perfect. It’s simply a small space a quiet corner of a tired heart that still longs to be gentle. From a heart that’s been busy being strong, but secretly just wants to be held. Sometimes, we don’t want answers. We just want to be heard. Sometimes, we don’t want to be told to rise. We just want to sit for a moment. And from that feeling, this writing was born. If you were a waiting room, who would sit there? This isn’t about who comes or goes. It’s about being a place simple, yet warm enough for someone trying to calm their restless heart.

It’s not about cold chairs or white walls filled with silence. It’s not about long queues or digital voices calling out numbers. The “waiting room” in this piece is a metaphor a symbol of the self. A quiet presence that, perhaps unknowingly, becomes a place where others quietly place their exhaustion. Because in life, not everyone is looking for answers. Some just need a pause. Some don’t need to be rescued just accompanied. And in that moment, we can become that space a space that demands nothing, but offers sincerity. A waiting room never rushes anyone to finish. It lets people sit, be still, cry, smile faintly, or even lose direction without needing immediate solutions. Maybe that’s what’s often needed from us: not lengthy advice, but gentle presence free of judgment. If you were a waiting room, maybe the one sitting there would be your friend strong on the outside, yet never given space to rest. Or the little child in your home, longing for your presence not just your availability. Or maybe, just maybe… it’s you. The one who listens to everyone, but forgets to hold space for yourself. Being a waiting room is a quiet form of love. It isn’t always praised often forgotten once people move on. But within its stillness, important decisions are made. Wounds begin to heal. Hearts slowly learn to trust again. We live in a world that rushes everything. We want quick recovery, instant success, clear answers. But who offers space for failure? For silence, for sadness, for not knowing what comes next? If you are a waiting room, you are living out a sacred role though invisible. You are the place where others feel enough, just as they are. Without masks. Without explanations. And in that stillness you provide, miracles quietly begin to grow: courage, hope, even love. And at the end of the day, when everyone else has left, may you also remember: You, too, deserve to sit in your own waiting room. To pause, to breathe, and not always be the strong one. Because you, too, deserve to be waited for, to be heard, to be held… even if only by yourself.

        So now I ask you, dear reader… If you were a waiting room, who would sit there? And more importantly have you allowed yourself to sit there, too? Let this be your gentle reminder, you don’t always have to be the strong one. You’re allowed to pause. You’re allowed to feel lost. You’re allowed to be held, even if only by your own presence. Maybe today, someone out there needs your quiet warmth. Maybe today, you are that someone. Thank you for sitting with these words for a while. If this spoke to your heart, I’d love to hear  who do you become a space for? And when was the last time you gave that space to yourself? Let’s remind each other, with kindness, that it’s okay to just be even when we’re still healing.