Safety + permission. Nothing is broken.
“He healeth the broken in heart…” — Psalm 147:3 (KJV)
For people who feel emotionally tender and think it means they’re “behind.”
Tenderness isn’t proof you’re weak. It might be proof you’re healing. This retreat helps you move from self-judgment to self-trust—gently, day by day.
Take a slow breath. You don’t have to prove anything here. When you’re ready, your day cards will appear.
Each day is a quiet room. Day 2 unlocks 24 hours after Day 1 completion. Day 3 unlocks 24 hours after Day 2 completion.
Tip: If you want this lock to be enforced across devices, add a backend (GAS).
Safety + permission. Nothing is broken.
“He healeth the broken in heart…” — Psalm 147:3 (KJV)
Pressure ≠ progress. Permission to soften.
“My yoke is easy…” — Matthew 11:30 (KJV)
Compassion builds trust—gently.
“Let us not be weary…” — Galatians 6:9 (KJV)
Tenderness often rises when your nervous system is finally allowed to feel what it postponed. It can show up after you’ve been “strong” for too long. It doesn’t mean you’re weak—it may mean you’re thawing. Sometimes the body speaks first, because it’s been carrying the story quietly. You are not broken for feeling more. You might be becoming honest. And honesty is holy when it brings you to God without pretending. Today, we practice listening without sentencing ourselves.
The world calls you fragile like it’s an insult, but God treats tenderness like something to protect. Healing isn’t a straight line; it’s a widening of safety. What you call “too sensitive” may be wisdom that learned to scan for danger. When you honor that signal, you can respond with care instead of shame. You don’t have to rush past the tender places to prove you’re okay. You can meet them with compassion and steady breath. And in that gentleness, you begin to trust yourself again.
Write gently: “What is my tenderness trying to protect?”
Fragile means “handle with care,” not “throw away.”
What’s tender may be what’s growing underneath.
Sensation returns when numbness loosens. That’s healing.
What if this tenderness is wisdom? What is it asking for—rest, clarity, gentleness, boundaries?