Thinking back to the sacrifices I’ve made in the name of some greater good gives me goosebumps— it’s a haunting thought that makes me feel like I’ve killed parts of myself to move forward or to do what was necessary.  In the moment, it didn’t feel like it.

Healing is a train that continues chugging and chugging away, with occasional stops and checkpoints, but no real destination. Once you heal from one thing, you’re on to the next. 

I think I eased into the land of living when, in 2021, surprisingly, in the midst of the pandemic. I was 21, still unsure about a lot of things, and still worrying about all things, but I felt like I’d lay my hustle down and set it aside. Me surviving is me hustling — to get through the day, to check off the to-dos and the expectations, and carry multiple loads that reach the heavens. It’s the nights I plop into bed feeling mentally exhausted, with each ounce of my bones aching in fatigue.