My heart has a tummy ache

Years ago, I read a story on a "mom blog" that I will always remember because of these words.

The mother described a disagreement she’d had with her very young daughter right before naptime. There were stern words and escalating emotions. Realizing her child wasn’t in a headspace to understand the lesson, the mom decided to step away. But as she turned to leave, the little girl looked up with tear-filled eyes and found the only words she had to describe the weight in her chest:

“Mommy, my heart has a tummy ache.”

She didn’t yet have the vocabulary for "my feelings are hurt." She only knew that when things weren't right with the person she loved most, it hurt. It was a physical, hollow, nauseating ache.

As adults, we have become experts at ignoring our heart’s tummy aches. We snap at our spouses, harbor grudges, or drift into habits that pull us from God’s light. Instead of addressing it, we "medicate" it. We scroll, we overwork, we complain, or we simply call it "stress."

But Lent is the season where we stop pretending. That restlessness when trying to pray? That weight after a day of selfish choices? That is the "indigestion" of a heart made for perfect union with God, currently settling for much less.

The beauty of that child’s confession wasn't just her honesty - it was what happened next. That simple admission broke the tension. It led to an embrace, to "I’m sorry," and to the restoration of peace. Our Heavenly Father is waiting for that same child-like vulnerability from us.

In the Sacrament of Reconciliation, we bring the mess of our pride and our neglect and simply say, "Father, my heart hurts because I’ve turned away from You."

This week, let’s stop settling, stop accepting the ache as the norm. Sit in the silence, go to confession, experience the relief. Walk out with the lightness of a child who knows they are perfectly loved and completely forgiven.