I don’t recall a specific moment in which I suddenly felt recovered; what I do remember are moments in which I began to see my body for what it was: normal, and strong, and worth loving.

If you can, be grateful for your sadness.

You don’t have to be perfect anymore.

Here lies my pattern of codependency.

Disclaimer: In order to avoid disturbing my downstairs neighbors, I can now only dance like the Pied Piper.

I tuck you in / The scent of lilies and fireworks / I settle you in / A knit of giddy reveries

◦ Go out in nature

◦ Press you hands into the muck

◦ Squelch your toes in mud

◦ Feel the cold liquid water seep

◦ Between the cracks of your soul

Life on a bike—a whole life / Hanging in gorged-out, bulging / Rucksacks and browned grocery bags

“Expressing myself” has, for many years, meant writing. Until recently, I’d put aside a true love of mine: drawing.

The color brown: warm and seductive all at once.

It’s a complicated mess, being human. Grief comes on when you least expect it, after months of letting go.

Studied, stuttered hikes through unknown territory: this is how I am choosing to spend my precious moments on this earth.

So I’ve been on a musical hiatus for about three weeks. Music has been one of my most challenging “addictions” to let go of.

Have you ever had an irrational fear? On Wednesday, I went to a car wash.

I weep for my past self, the girl aching to be held and known and adored. I weep for the woman facing her present with courage and without doubt.

Yes, this title is entirely too long, and no, I won’t shrink it. Not even for you, SEO.

“I have POTS,” I said. I sat back in the cold, plasticky chair, glancing around at the students studying in the bright classroom.