The best day is a slow day at work. The best day is the day that the sun is shining, but it’s not too hot outside. The best day is the first day the temperature drops in September. The best day is the day I can give my baby a kiss. The best day is the day I belly laugh with my best friends until my cheeks hurt. The best day is the day I give my mom a hug. The best day is the day I am loving and kind on purpose. The best day is the day without anxiety; the day I can breathe through it. The best day is the day I start a new book. The best day is the day I finish my new favorite book. The best day is the day I start knitting, and every day I get to since. The best day is the day I get to go on adventures with the people I love. The best day is going to the Atlanta Zoo with my oldest sister and our partners. The best day is that same day, at the zoo, when a lion made eye contact with me (I swear it’s true!). The best day is in Boston, watching the second oldest sister graduate from Harvard. The best day is reconnecting with extended family for the first time in a decade in Boston. The best day is the day I went to the Hozier concert, and I was physically connected to the music and the message more than ever before and everyone in the audience was crying and it was beautiful. The best day is the day I realized my chronic illness is teaching me how to stop and rest. The best day is the day my cat decides he wants to snuggle in my lap before bed. The best day is therapy day! The best day is the day I realized I am healing; my hard work is paying off. The best day is the day I let myself cry in front of someone else. The best day is the day I realize I’m as smart as I think I am and, yes, I can prove it to you. The best day is the day I decide to be brave. The best day is the day I do the brave thing.

Dear Unsealers:

2023 is rapidly coming to a close.
365 days have come and gone.
Yet, one particular day this year stands out from the rest.

It was Sunday, October 1st.

After spending a week running around mainland Greece, our group boarded a plane departing from Athens and arrived on the island of Crete. Kalimera to the city of Heraklion.

Island time had kicked in with a later start. But it would be a busy day nonetheless.

Our first stop brought us to the archeological site at Knossos. The open air seat of the Minoan civilization. The Labyrinth was underneath our feet, alas there was no sign of the mythic Minotaur around.

The next stop was to the Titakis Winery.

A tour of the vineyard began amongst the vines. Walking through vines and picking off the grapes to eat. The production process was explained further before we tasted the wine. Two tables under blue skies, sunshine and four different wines. Each one getting its due.

Further around the island we went for lunch. It would be a multi course affair with abundant food and conversation. At this point of the trip, our group had become like family. For good measure, the meal finished with a round of the liquor Ouzo. Don’t be fooled by its clarity, the drink packs quite a punch.

As we arrived back at the hotel, the day wasn’t over yet.

Upon arriving at the hotel the day before, I had seen the logo of the soccer club AEK Athens in the conference room nearby. I didn’t understand the reason why it was there, though.

As I made my way up to the hotel’s lobby, the sound of soccer chants filled the air. A big smile on my face, the star struck look on our guide’s face as AEK is the soccer team her and her sons support and bewilderment from everyone else. AEK Athens was in town for a match against the local side OFI Crete F.C..

The group of thirty two became thirty six as a pair of college students and a pair of professional Greek dancers joined us on the bus heading to dinner. The sun set over Iraklio as day turned to night.

We arrived at a taverna on the other side of the island. Nary a soul around as we walked up the steps to the terrace. Tables laid out below the vine covered roof. And on the horizon, a full moon changing colors in the sky.

The meal began with a pair of musicians providing the soundtrack for the night. Without saying a word, the island’s passion was felt.

After the meal was done and the dancers had shown us their moves, it was time for us to join the celebration and dance. The joy in the room was so strong, the ouzo that had been brought out wasn’t needed.

I went up to the musicians to thank them for the music. I mentioned to them that I was a writer and a poet.

And one of them made a wish for me: that I would return to Crete to spend the summer writing.

As I looked up at the full moon on the way back to the bus, I knew it was an amazing day.

And there was still the visit to Santorini on the near horizon.

I’m grateful for blue skies, warm sunshine, and a breeze that kisses the nose.
I’m grateful for green grasses and rushing creeks and bare feet.
I’m grateful for friends and lovers that grab you by the hand and dance with you.
I’m grateful for their consistent reminders, “You’re safe here. I love you.”
I’m grateful for the forehead kisses my love gives me,
And that he bends down to let me kiss his forehead right back.
I’m grateful for the safety of my home, and I’m grateful for a newcomer’s compliments,
“It looks like a gallery in here!” Thank you, the art is my favorite, too.
I’m grateful, especially, for the rabbit posed in play, a floppy handstand,
That’s been in our home longer than my memories. It’s one of my first ones.
I’m grateful for the way the sun shines into my mother’s bedroom just before sunset in spring.
It bathes the house in gold and it’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.
I’m grateful for the drums that echo in my chest at the concert in Alpharetta,
And the music that reverberates in my bones. I’m grateful to have a body that feels the music.
It’s exhilarating and soothing, an ecstasy I don’t need to swallow.
I’m grateful for cats with soft fur and who love love love ear scratches.
I’m grateful to my body and my brain for giving me the gift of sensation.
Even when it’s too much, or not enough, I’m grateful to be present to feel.

Dear, Unsealers:

I’m grateful to be on my own feet. Each day, I see them with all the scars and calluses as symbols of confronting the biggest struggle with having cerebral palsy.

Yet, they’ve carried me from the streets of NYC to sailing around the islands of Santorini. They wobble and tire out easily but they don’t give up on enjoying life.

It’s with that idea in mind that this poem came along:

I’m grateful for being on my own two feet

As I’m able to open my eyes
And see them in scarred, callused glory

It wasn’t always this way, though…

Years of being held back
By varying braces and orthopedics
A mentality that sunk into my mind

Of being helpless
When all I wanted to do was walk
With normalcy, like everyone else

Now, I treasure each step
Whether its out of my room, walking down the block or in a new destination

No matter the difficulty
On hills, boats and all uneven terrain
I step into my power

To be on my own two feet
A feeling that’s worth so much to me

Gratitude doesn’t do it enough justice
For the magic of walking on my own two feet

Dear reader,
I still struggle with body dysmorphia.
But in 2021, I started wearing tiny clothes. For the first time ever.
I’ve been many different sizes since my teens, but I’ve always been shaped the same. I was a chunky kid, or a curvy girl. Even in the height of my eating disorder, my bone structure never changed. The shape of my scapulae, the curve of my rib cage, or how close its end is to my pelvic bone’s beginning; these parts of me don’t move, so size didn’t always “fix” things. My fat distribution never changed much, either (hormone problems also contribute to that). I was always a “thick thighs save lives” girl with a big butt, even if there were less adipose cells than before.
I felt deformed. Being raised in the early 2000s, this meant my whole life was a story of “Clothes Never Fit Right”. A story of my mom buying me women’s clothes at age 14 because the clothes my peers wore were too small. A story of being laughed at when I wore low-rise skinny jeans that gave me a “plumber butt”. A story of being called Britney Spears by a classmate because a button-up shirt I wore that day was a bit more form-fitting. (Which is a ridiculous insult, by the way. Britney is a queen.) It was also a story of seeing women being vilified for having a body that looked like a body. Every woman had to be paper thin.
When I was 11, the 2007 VMAs splattered the news with Britney Spears’s performance. My dad nonchalantly said that Britney was “maybe skinny for a mom but still fat for a woman”. He said that to his 11-year-old daughter.
I was insecure for so, so long.
Then comes 2021. After a pandemic shutdown that kept most of us at home for months, I’m an adult. I’m well past the eating disorder. I’ve graduated college. I make my own money. Screw it, I’m now just going to wear what I want. I’m officially not dependent on anybody else.
I wore Aerie leggings with a crop top. This was a new combination for me, and one that was trendy at the time. I was self-conscious at first; and worried about what my mom would think. She never would’ve let me leave the house wearing something like that growing up. I had been wearing the oversized T-shirt and Nike shorts combination for years.
I definitely spent way longer than I want to admit still sucking in my tummy. I spent way longer than I want to admit worrying about the shape of my butt, or my thighs rubbing together.
But it was so comfortable.
So over time, I adjusted.
My belly was out, every curve and line where everyone could see. My butt looked phenomenal. My thighs were being gently hugged by each other and the leggings with every step. Even my back rolls played peek-a-boo if I needed to reach something from a high shelf.
You could see pretty much every part that I’d been forced to hide before. I was the most visible I had ever been.
After a decade of either squishing everything in with Spanx, or completely hiding under a babydoll dress: leggings and a crop top freed me. I finally saw my body in real time. Every soft bit, I knew exactly what it looked like. I knew exactly what I looked like.
It took a while to make peace with certain parts of myself. But I could finally look at every part of me and look at every part put together to form the whole of me and be okay with it. I could finally see me and my body without shame and contortion.
My body dysmorphia is not gone. That part of me may not ever fully heal. But I made progress I’d never made before, because of this. Because of Aerie leggings and crop tops.
This particular method may not be for everyone.
This was the first of many times I’d leave my comfort zone. It definitely felt funny to start. Growth never comes without discomfort.
Looking back now, though, it healed me more than I thought it did.