Echoes of Light

A few years ago, after being hit with a particularly nasty comment—one of those sharp, unexpected ones that leaves you hurt, angry, frustrated, and crying—I had a realization that changed everything. I couldn’t control what someone said to me, but I could control how I responded. It was as if a light finally switched on.

But knowing that wasn’t enough. I needed something tangible, something I could picture when those hurt‑prickles flared in my chest. I needed a way to do something with the pain instead of drowning in it.

That night, an image arrived.

I saw a large, two‑story, ornate wrought‑iron cage with a door. It sat on a small island in the middle of a quiet lagoon. Inside the cage was my heart—not an anatomical heart, but a soft, valentine‑shaped one, glowing with warmth.

On the island were people. Some stood at the shoreline, watching from a distance. Some were close enough to touch the bars of the cage. And a precious few were inside, leaning into my heart, wrapped in love and trust.

Out in the lagoon were little boats, each carrying someone from my life. They bobbed gently on the water like corks—never gone, never erased, just… at varying distances.

And suddenly, the cage made sense.

It wasn’t a punishment. It wasn’t a flaw. It wasn’t a sign of weakness.
It was a boundary.
A structure built from experience.
A protection for something tender and irreplaceable.

And I—not anyone else—was the gatekeeper.

I got to decide who came close.
I got to decide who needed to step back.
I got to decide who could enter, who could linger, and who needed to drift for a while.

It’s a fluid process. Someone might be nestled right up against my heart one day, and then an unkind word or careless action might sting. Instead of collapsing into old patterns, I can now pause and say internally, “I love you, but I’m hurting right now. I need you to take a step back.”

No drama. No punishment. Just stewardship of my own emotional landscape.

People come and go in our lives. Some drift away. Some return. Some stay at the shoreline. Some surprise us by rowing closer again. And when they do, I can choose—calmly, intentionally—whether to open the gate.

This image gave me something I never had before:
a sense of power over my own emotional world.

Not power over others—just over myself.
The power to protect my heart without hardening it.
The power to love without losing myself.
The power to respond instead of react.

If your heart has its own island, its own cage, its own boats, I hope this helps you the way it helped me. You’re allowed to guard your heart with wisdom. You’re allowed to choose who comes close. And you’re allowed to hold the key with steady hands.