It’s March. Spring is starting to peek through the clouds.
I’m trying to move slow. I’m trying to be easy.
I’m working hard just to breathe.
I’m pining for control over my own body,
My autonomy feels out of reach.

I am reminded how I felt at sixteen, when I made the choice to starve.
Then I am reminded of the Palestinian children and men and women,
Dark eyes pleading while they wither away,
Bombs reflected back into our view.
I am humbled.

I am not the same as I once was.
Gratitude exists, albeit forced at times.
Growth and healing is an active choice.
I let myself transform.