The Cup Half Full

We often talk about the glass being half full or half empty. But today, I found myself thinking about the cup.

Not the contents.
Not how full it is.
Just the cup.

Because the cup, in its quiet way, holds more than liquid.
It holds intention. It holds memory. It holds the pause between one moment and the next.

Some days, the cup is overflowing — with laughter, warmth, connection, and those beautiful moments that feel like little exhalations of joy. Other days, the cup feels lighter. Quieter. Almost empty. But I’m learning that an empty cup is not a symbol of lack. It is a symbol of readiness.

An empty cup is not failure.
It is possibility.

A full cup is comforting, but a waiting cup is hopeful.

There are seasons where we pour endlessly — into work, into family, into dreams, into healing. And there are seasons where we must let ourselves be filled again. Both are equally sacred. Both are necessary.

I’m learning that refilling is not a weakness. It is wisdom.
It is remembering that we are not meant to be endlessly pouring without ever pausing to receive.

The cup teaches us how to slow down.
How to sit.
How to hold warmth between our hands and let it warm something inside us too.

Even warm water can be a comfort on the days when life feels heavy. Even a simple cup can become a small ceremony. A soft moment of care we offer ourselves without needing permission.

Some days, the cup is overflowing.
Some days, it’s quiet.
Both are honest.

And maybe that’s the gift — realising that the cup doesn’t judge its contents. It simply holds what it’s given, patiently waiting for the next pour.

So today, I honour the cup.
Whether it’s full, half, or waiting to be filled again.

Because every cup still matters.
And so do we.

With love, Cristina x