Peace Without a Performance

It’s not something you find.
It’s something you choose to keep.

And sometimes—
it finds you first.

Not in a moment of triumph.
Not in a perfect place.
Not when the world finally softens.

But in the middle.
In the mess.
In the stillness that doesn’t ask to be noticed.

Peace like that—
it isn’t loud.
But from where I’m standing,
it’s the loudest sound in the room.

See—
I thought I had to earn it.
Thought I had to chase it.
Thought it lived somewhere I hadn’t been yet.

I thought I had to do something.
Be something.
Fix everything.

I thought I had to wait for life to line up—
to meet it,
to deserve it,
to experience it.
To sit with it.
To become it.

But once you realize the truth—
you find yourself standing in the same place I am.

And when you do—
it won’t matter who’s around you.
It won’t matter what’s around you.

All that will matter
is what you feel in that moment.

And once you feel it—
really feel it
without needing anything or anyone else to hand it to you—
you’ll never go back.

Because now you know:

It was already with you.
Already a part of you.
It stays
when everything else leaves.

It’s quiet
when everything else screams.
It speaks
when everyone else shouts.
And it listens
when no one else knows how.

It’s not something you find.
It’s something you choose to keep.

And maybe—
just maybe—
you already know its name.

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you.
I do not give to you as the world gives.
Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.”
—John 14:27

—Angela
The voice beneath Daughter, Unwritten