Dear Little Kendy,
Has Mom come home yet? I can feel your anticipation waiting for a friendly face to enter through the front door. She works hard day and night for your well-being, yet that feeling of emptiness lingers. You crave to be in the presence of another human; you always appreciate the intimacy of a lively conversation. I remember it as if it were yesterday, but for you, it’s now. Waking up in an empty house was always a struggle. Breakfast for one. Playing with our toys was a satisfying pastime. In those isolated moments, Barbie, Pinkie Pie, and our hundreds of Littlest Pet Shop figurines comforted me. After traveling the world, creating new friends, and becoming a fashion icon with my “Gal Pals,” I’d turn to television for new excitement. It was always “Friends.” Chandler, Monica, Rachel, Phoebe, and Ross! The gang’s all here! While giggling at Monica’s head stuck in a turkey, I heard her keys jingle. Mom opened the door and sighed. “Friends again?” she spoke. Little did she know I rewatched the same show over and over again because I admired the character’s willingness to spend as much time with each other as humanly possible. Episode after episode, I felt included in their world. Mom and I had our usual little routine. I yap her ear off and she engages as best as she can. I loved our time together, but soon I’d have to close my eyes and be alone all over again. I did everything in my power to escape the endless loop of alone time. Hanging out with our neighbors, who I barely enjoyed spending time with, as a means of escaping my impending solitude. Throughout middle school, I intended to establish connections with as many people as I could, so I’d never have to be alone again. Just know, you do just that. You will meet some of the most kindhearted and compassionate individuals in your life, most of which I am still friends with today! We became close instantly, making it even easier for me to become attached. After getting my first “real” phone, we talked all the time. Late-night Roblox sessions, gossiping about the cutest boys in our grade, or weekly trips to Galleria Mall were times I looked forward to. I remember those school days filled with unforgettable moments, and how I’d rush home to dive straight into voice chat with friends. My routine drastically changed and my alone time ceased to exist. My high school experience was just the same. If someone was throwing a party, I was there. If a friend wanted to grab food, I was there. “Want to come to my dentist’s appointment?” “Absolutely!” I found myself leaving for school at 5 am, going to work until 9 pm, and then staying out until midnight. I graduated high school in May of last year. Everything I had known, changed. I started picking up shifts at work to make up for the lack of school interaction. From June 2023 to May 2024, I went out almost every day. With time, I realized I was pushing myself far beyond my limits. I grew tired and rarely took a second to check in with myself. At the beginning of this summer, I had very few plans, my friends got jobs or boyfriends, and I was alone once again. I cried endlessly. Why was I unable to be alone? Didn’t most people find peace in solitude? I began watching TikToks about self-improvement and emotional regulation. Everyone always said the same thing. “Journaling changed my life.” Initially, I thought those people were naive, but it turns out the only naivety present came from me. I bought an aesthetically pleasing journal, those fancy ballpoint pens, and set an intention for myself. Page 1 of my journal reads, “Contentment.” Journaling quickly became my healthy attachment. I opened up about my thoughts and experiences, reflected, and came to the conclusion I was relying on others for abundance. I am rereading my 2024 affirmations while writing you this letter. On a charcoal-colored page, adorned with constellations and a bouquet, it reads, “I create my own happiness” in my semi-cursive handwriting. Over the summer, I worked hard towards self-improvement and engaged in solo activities including crosswords, building Legos, and practicing Pilates. Now, I am whole and look forward to coming home and experiencing new moments with myself. Overcoming my fear of being alone was a transformative journey where I realized solitude doesn’t equal loneliness, but rather becomes a sanctuary for growth and discovering contentment.
Xoxo,
Twenty-Something Kendy

It was my seventh birthday. The air was stale even at 10 a.m., as it was on most late August days. An echoing hard knock on the forest green-colored door that guarded our house on Grace Ave alarmed me. Even though I was only seven (hours into the age), the knock raised an alert in my stomach that made it drop many stories. Two officers, one holding papers, spoke to my mother as I stood in the doorway, shielding behind her legs. Both officers entered our house, took our furniture, and started throwing it outside. My mother told me to pack my bag with my essentials, which were at the time my favorite blanket, and my Batman action figures. I remember the bass
in my mother’s voice as she begged the men not to take away our home. I remember the bright
eyes of each of our neighbors as they watched from their kitchen windows. I remember the
sound of broken glass as each of the dishes and mugs that once filled our kitchen and served us
dinner every night hit the concrete ground right at the curb of our street. But what I remember most is watching the brand new set of bunkbeds that were an early birthday present being hauled away. I begged for bunkbeds for years to accommodate my friends for sleepovers, but as quickly as my wish was granted after blowing out the candle of last year’s cake, my brand new bed was being tossed into the trash. The sequence of events was blurry after that, as my mother and I
bounced around for years and couch-surfed in many friends’ living rooms. In each new apartment we had, I was hesitant about unpacking my items and often kept them in boxes to not get too comfortable. Even as the years went by and I had my apartments with roommates or current significant others, I refrained from mixing my kitchenware or knick-knacks with theirs because the idea of being vulnerable in my own home was foreign. In one relationship, we combined our books on a bookshelf (in alphabetical order of author’s last name), which fit perfectly into the
space. After a nasty breakup, I came home from work, and the bookshelf was half empty, and my books were the only thing left that was standing in that relationship. My heart went back to my old house on Grace Ave as my body was standing in its same form just a decade later. But this time, instead of feeling empty and without shelter, I reminded myself that it was healthy to let myself be vulnerable and trust another space and another person, as it took me many years to do so. I also realized that I even trust myself. Yes, the books were gone along with some furniture out of our shared apartment, but I still had shelter. I will be okay.

However, to this day, I still crave having bunkbeds even as an adult.

For you-

I wanted to tell you about the decision that was made slowly. Made over the course of a couple semesters of sleepless nights that I filled with colors and unique faces, while smoke curled around me like infinite halos and various mediums stained my clothes. Life was a blur of coffee, shitty parking spots, endless ideas, negativity, and more coffee… and I remember constantly feeling like I was drowning.

The first couple of semesters of college were a lot like that time I visited Tim Burton’s LACMA exhibit on Halloween night. There was a collected presence of awe enveloping every person there, with hushed whispers and pointed fingers wherever you turned. You could feel a sort of beautiful artistic darkness peaking your curiosity and encouraging your creativity- just daring you to get off your ass and pick up your instrument (you know you want to). That was exactly what my first taste of college felt like. The mixture of uneasiness and excitement; a palpable admiration consistently pouring out of me. My curiosity peaked, my creativity raging, I picked up several instruments.

Artistic instruments are similar to instruments of torture. Both will cause you to marvel; both will cause you to scream. Tools that can be picked up as a result of intense passion or emotion; used to satisfy, control, release, create, and destroy. Both can be difficult, meticulous things- but some will find that they have quite a talent for it. I am not one of those people, and I learned this the hard way.

I like to say that I am an artist of mind, not of talent. The visions that I get and the ideas that my mind creates are masterpieces that I’m sure Tim Burton himself would point at and whisper about. However, when whichever instrument my right hand picks up meets the negative space, it’s as if my brain isn’t sending the correct messages to my hand, causing my brilliant vision to fall flat. I justified trying for an art degree because me “wanting it badly enough” mixed with learning and progressing through college art classes was sure to help me close the gap between me and the truly talented artists around me…right? Wrong.

I truly tried, and I gave my classes the absolute best effort I possibly could. Unfortunately, my absolute best wasn’t enough. My life was a chaotic watercolor blend; the kind that hurts your eyes if you stare at it too long. A tangle of fading friendships, betrayal, assault, experiments, and a rawness that cannot be understood unless you were there. I gave every aspect of life my very best, and continuously fell short. I was drowning in this poisonous concoction of mental health issues, social awakenings, and never being quite enough. The knowledge of not being enough ate at me quickly; attacked me, really, using instruments of torture I never thought possible.

I had to accept the fact that although I had wanted to be a professional artist since I was a small girl, and even though I was trying and practicing and learning, it still was not enough.

And just like that, I’m standing on the balcony of the art department building, blood dotting my jeans all the way through while the watercolors staining my fingers flirt with my lips as I inhale the nicotine that I don’t even really like, and release it back out into the night. I’m crying. Tears and snot awaken the dormant watercolors, leaving stains on the butt. My breath catches on an inhale of smoke, causing the toxic stick to fall while my lungs fight for air. When I’m done coughing, I’m left gasping, not enough air finding me. Things go dark for a while, and eventually I come to- sitting in the corner of the balcony clutching myself, every inch of me clammy, hair sticking to my face.

It took me a while to realize I was developing a panic disorder. It took even longer for me to fully face the fact that an art degree was something that I needed to let go of. This turning point marked the end of my adolescence, because being honest with yourself is a step toward adulthood. This step led me to begin nourishing a part of me that was always there, but sometimes forgotten. The medium that I was always naturally decent at, but didn’t always accept as art because it wasn’t as visually appealing to the eye.

Here I am, over a decade later, utilizing my chosen instrument while my hair remains out of my face and my muscles remain relaxed. And while I may never be the absolute best at it, I am certainly good enough.

Love,

Sometimes the world offers us many moments of truths. I believe small ones and then life’s cosmic baseball bat. I had just finished leaving a newer job that I thought would offer me a new start. Really starting a domino effect of leaving the apartment and in the area of my dreams. At this point in my life I was pretty oblivious to the amount of change I had put myself through, completely unaware how unhappy I was. After all I had a job, a place, an area I loved and was completely content being on my own.
As I look back I faced a choice to stay at this toxic job and put my head down, but what came out was “I guess I have to go.” To this point the only thing I had left was myself, my cat, and my car. I could hardly believe at the ripe age of 30, the one place I said I’d never go back to was my parents house. The place I felt was a house of horrors.
After being there sometime and no job offers I could feel what little spirit I had dwindle. The toxic environment I had escaped from my job was no match for the birth place of I first felt it, my childhood.
Feeling powerless I decided that even though I had gone most of my life without any medicine I would go for a thc gummy. Not the real deal, but it was enough for my depression and anxiety to be able to face the days. It really became my non prescribed medicine.
After sometime it didnt seem to effect me and things seemed manageable. I decided to meet up with an old friend to have lunch and the time we were supposed to me kept getting pushed back. So I decided Ill just eat some snacks until we get together. When we got together, finally, we smoked. Harmless seeing I thought seeing as I had taken the gummies over time. We finally got inside to eat and waiting in line I started to feel weak. What is this I thought, why do I feel off. My friend ahead of me I said Im feeling weird. Her response was ” you’ll be okay were almost to the front.” I was true, only two people ahead of us. As I stood there my eyesight went black and lost control of my body. I dropped down in space on the hard tile in the middle of the line. Knocking myself unconscious, with the strength I had left I tried to get up and stay awake.
Whisked off personally by my friend I ended up in the hospital. As I was being rolled in I could feel my consciousness coming and going from my body and has no idea if I was dying. Feeling like I was unattached to my body.
This was it, the turning point. The big cosmic baseball bat not only had I put myself in danger, but my friend who had stood by me all the days of my recovery I had traumatized. I had put any friends that had known and family through so much heartache.
Now you as the reader I have told this is the turning point, but really It was just the crescendo of the turning point. I went through a LONG period of denial and continued to do the same thing. In my house hold someone else was battling worse if not the same issues. Triggering in me the same wounds. How could I change in the environment that I felt stuck in?
How did I start without a job, oh not to mention my car stopped working so I could not leave. I decided to walk, and walk, and walk. Eventually I began to reflect, eventually I found a place away from home where I found connections, and those connections led me to church. In that church while almost allergic to being religious I found community. The community offered me support and sponsored me to get free sessions for therapy. I had a safe space finally away from home. From there it snowballed and made a new friend, a friend who had addictions and probably worse. I could tell her the truth without going into a shame spiral and she challenged me to let go along with the other support to let go. To deal with my situation head on and really empower myself to look at where I was and make smalls steps towards dealing with my deep emotions. Discovering an outlet and healthier ways to deal with the life circumstances.
I can’t say that everything is better, but I will say this is the first time in my life Ive stopped running from my past and was forced to face the truth. My past was horrifying, me going back home nothing had changed. But I have! I became a different person then the child they knew.
I’d like to encourage anyone who reads this letter if youre at a turning point, if you’re at a cross roads to get support. To connect with others you can trust, find community wherever you are and lean on them, just like the song says when you’re not strong. It ‘s the first time being independent I had to reach out and learn not everyone hurts you and can the human spirit can touch you in the darkest of places.

As seasons come, seasons go.
As spring has sprung, the rivers flow.
A new birth of a weary soul is reborn.
Yet, I sit hit with this heavy thorn.
Hoping that I can find peace and learn what I need to know.

From the pain inflicted by the white substance that tore my family apart.
I now sit here writing this poem with a broken heart.
For I once believed I had found what we all long for.
The key to peace and happiness laying behind that familiar yellow door.
But instead, I sit here expressing myself through an emotional form of art.

Picking up the pieces has been the most difficult task that I have done.
Yet, I continue to find my place in this world until the day that I am gone.
Finding my path to journey alone on this one-way street,
Is something I will continue to carve out as I stand alone on my own two feet.
And I will rise and shine, and sing until all the songs in me have been sung.

For a better tomorrow lays beyond the horizon and beyond the unknown.
For my wings will be set free and spread all on my own.
I am determined to fight the fight and create a new life with purpose and pain free.
So I can show my children what it is that they need to learn and see.
And giving them a pure love to show them that they are not alone.

Now I write to escape the reality of what it means to live in pain,
For I fight to keep my mantle free of someone else’s bloody stain,
which feels like a fight that can only be fought by those who are brave,
And I fight for me, as I am the only one I can save.
For this fight is for me to keep myself sane.
And now a new breath of fresh life has been rebirthed,
Knowing that I will never have to look at another blow of white snow.

Everyone has a past
But when the past seeps into the present
We face the repercussions & cultivate resentments
I have no direction
Unable to pinpoint what brings my life satisfaction
I’m consumed with anxiety, impatience & even aggression
When do I find that which calms me
Brings my entire existence it’s longing serenity

For I was searching, searching
A rock to ground
A hand to hold
I’m losing grip
Not a grasp on my soul
Through the motions I flow, rather fall
Attempting to prevent a downward spiral

No one to save me
The Lord is my Savior
If I sin, will He still tolerate my behavior
Mistakes forgiven, still on Earth living
If & when my purpose is fulfilled
Does my soul contract submit me to Hell
To have been high as a kite or down on bended knee
I hope He knows I’ve lived life genuinely
If to live 100 years or die tomorrow
This life had meaning because it’s He who gave me
A life absorbed by love, family, & humility
Despite the trauma & downfall
I have risen above because He’s helped me conquer all
In my lowest, weakest point I struggled to see the light
But yet I heard Him say hold on as much as I might
Entrusting in the process & willful strength was met with my own doubt
To have never seen the light
I was certain I’d end this life without

Face to face with my tower moment
My demons making their presence known
My back uncovered
My vulnerable side shown
With nothing & no one
Even rock bottom was a stranger
Mustering the strength & courage was distant but not foreign
Never would I have to summon it to this magnitude
Changing everything within me from my mindset to my habits to my attitude
Rebirthing into the person He knew I could be
He had the answers all along when the negativity refrained my vision to see

Now in my future, I see the light
Not THAT light, but happiness which knows no bounds
My worries & fears are weightless
It’s as if I’m floating off the ground
I couldn’t be where I am today
Without a little faith, grace & a daily pray

This was the point everything changed
The point where it was every wrong turn but still the right path
To have only now found He & my angels
It was me against the enemy right from the start
Attempting to reign chaos on my mind & my heart
Nonetheless do I have appreciation for the struggle yes
But now to live my life with Him in succession
I am untouchable in the most humbling sense
I am able to resonate at a higher vibration
I can now entrust that I live my life to its fullest ascension

In the hall of college, where Arms strong rested across the chairs,
Students, done with classes came to see a show with time to spare,
“Testing, Testing. Y’all know what time it is. It’s Open Mic Night!”
I was just grabbing a burger and a friend met me mid-bite.

“Last call, last call! Is there another performer?”
“Hey, don’t you write? I saw poems in your class drawer.”
I winced and said “Yeah, but I don’t know for today-”
“Hey, he wants to go! He’s the Langston Hughes of today!”

I glared at my friend, but I took my notes and read,
Emotions flared, the students froze with their phones left unread,
At the end of the words, the hall rose and cheered,
To the friend that made this night possible?…. I still glared.
This kickstarted me to write poetry,
Oh, what a new world that’s opened up for me!

Born on the beautiful island of Bermuda during a cozy December
I have been mindful of God for as long as I can remember
Raised with love in our family home
Thanks to my parents, the Spirit of God I’ve always known.

Later, living in the United States, I attended a mindful movement class
With no clue how much its impact would last
I wasn’t sure how the class would flow
But I felt drawn to it and knew I had to go.

I profoundly felt the presence of God on my exercise mat
Experiencing sacred intimacy in a way I’ll never forget
Using body, mind, soul, and spirit to connect with Him
This is where my turning point begins…

My intimacy with God this way steadily increased
Sacred, relaxing, and full of Christ-centered peace
It led me to become a movement instructor and ‘minister on the mat’
Helping others pause, consciously breathe, and soulfully connect

With God of the universe
And the Holy Spirit within
With the One who sent His son, Jesus
To forgive and erase our sins.

Blending movement with stillness along with God’s word
A new mission for me was what I heard
Guiding others to relax their shoulders and straighten their backs
While engaging their abdominals to strengthen the core
Using the physical to go spiritually deeper with God to know Him more.

This turning point became a love language between God and me
Blessing me to spiritually see
The beauty of God moving within
And that physical movement could also be a vehicle for following Him.

Rooted in this mission like a tree
God and me
We got to going
The wind was blowing…

Taking me to the training, credentials, and opportunities to teach this way
This perspective on life was a brand new day
Combining the elements of work and play
And today, I am here to say:

Speaking this embodied love language with God
Wasn’t what I initially sought
Until experiencing the process of slowing all the way down
And anchoring my feet on God’s solid ground.

Aligned like a charm
My soul felt calm
Spirit illuminated
Body and mind invigorated.

Then…

Poetic prayers eventually became a solid part of my voice
A blessed, sweet, and playful choice
Communicating with God in such a way
That He feeds me the words to write and say.

Aligning with Him as a spiritual poet
I know His voice. I know it; I know it.
A vessel of His poetry to help others and me be free
To become clear about what God has created us to be.

With that clarity, purpose beautifully unfolds
Stories of turning points are written and told
Divine connection leads us to become bold!

My boldness—A manuscript, “Rhyming with God,” was recently birthed
Pages with poetic prayers and reflections about positive worth
A publishing offer has been given to me
So, in 2025, readers will see…

My intimacy with God poetically expressed
A relationship with Jesus nurtured by holy rest
Life with the One who is the very best
Who meets us where we’re at and helps us through any test.

Whether writing or on the mat
I give God all the glory, honor, and utmost respect
Purposed by Him with roles that feel like a dream
Some days I’m so excited I could joyfully scream.

Embodied intimacy with God is of a special kind
Aligning with Him, we’ll peacefully find
Life outside of the daily grind
And restoration for the body, soul, spirit, and mind.

Thank You, God, for the lessons of many kinds
Thank You for allowing me to find
The paths to go, the ways to flow
And how to know, and know, and know—You!

The crack to the skull
A bleed in the brain
Death shook me
She called-
Addressed me by name
Stood above so I could see
My Rome in vanity

Momentum increased
Pillars collapsed
Every image stumbled
Shattered & crumbled
Unmasked & raw
Only held at the seams

The life I once knew -In pieces at my feet
Outstretched for miles, it resembled defeat
Yet the weight lifted & she drew her first breath
Emerged from the rubble, an image pristine

A glimpse of what was to come
To accept the unbroken
Was to conspire to murder
The audible & unspoken

The purpose & the drive
Debilitating all at once
Breathed into me new life
& undiscovered fronts
In honor of the indelible
What once was, exists in memory
What is yet to be – a blank slate
Out of mind, as it should be
But in my hands all the same
The moment she spoke my name

Growing up I was abused spiritually, verbally, physically, emotionally and the unspoken. Being quiet and fulfill the needs of others taught me how to survive in toxic environments, but it was never stopped the abuse. My entire belief system was built on the foundation of pleasing people. I believed I wasn’t good enough. Love was supposed to be unrequited- at least for me.
Though I never learned to put my own needs first, I had a secret. I never stopped dreaming, hoping and believing for unconditional love. As I got older I searched for this unicorn named unconditional love, but to no avail. I found comfort in unhealthy habits that provided artificial happiness.
Then I had children. They became my light in the darkness. I vowed to always protect them from things that I endured and ensure they had a great life. However, my belief system didn’t change. As a result, the trauma seeped into my children and infected our family dynamic. I saw what was happening, but felt powerless to change it. It was a sinking ship with no life jackets. Whatever I tried was never enough, so I worked harder. I got more jobs. More work meant less quality time, but they had material things and spent a lot of time with other people.
Over time the relationships I developed via family, friends or lovers grew worse.
I felt hopeless. One day, the inevitable happened. I discovered that my beloved children were experiencing abuse in various forms, even the unspeakable. I wanted to vanquish myself from the Earth. I fought to give them freedom, but continued cycles.
I was consumed with anger and depression at the thought of failing them. Everyone blamed me. Not the person who violated them, but me. Sadly, I blamed myself too.
While I spent time away from them during the investigation I had a choice to make. I could wallow or move forward. It required a lot of introspection. I moved into a shelter. I had lost everything I tried to hold on to and just had me. Me and the universe. How did I get here? Through therapy and meditation I soul searched. Inner child healing was necessary, but painful.
The next step was to speak up. It took courage to testify. I was horrified reliving the events and hearing my autistic daughter tell her truth. I had to ensure she got justice others refused to me. I made a statement and closed a painful chapter in my book.
Though I am still rebuilding and reparenting myself, I am grateful for my journey. I am grateful to the universe. I am grateful to myself for believing that I was worthy to heal my trauma. The hardest part wasn’t testifying, asking forgiveness or taking accountability, but learning to forgive myself. I had to forgive myself for neglect, rebuild my entire belief system and visualize a different perspective. I take care of myself now because I love me. I spend more time with my children and enjoy life’s journey. Who knew that playing uno, park visits and baking cookies together could heal so many wounds? What was meant to destroy me has become a motivation for real change in all aspects of my life. I am grateful I will never be the same.
Although I was able to stand up for my daughter, there are many children who will never see their justice. Issues like this are hidden dark secrets. Although I cannot save them, I can encourage others to speak up and to heal themselves. I have found many creative avenues to do it. I hope that my story will encourage others to find their voices too. Save themselves. Take their power back. The more we speak out, the braver we become.
This is only the beginning…

I tore my soul out today
I could see no other way
Teaching was the goal I had
Since I was a little lad
Helping others to achieve
Was my purpose, I believe
But then ideology
Frustrated pedagogy
The choice for me became clear-
My kind was not wanted here
Thus I chose to walk away
And tore out my soul today

I tore my soul out today
I could see no other way
Students deserve honesty
Teachers with integrity
Discussing our history
Told to lie so they won’t see
The truth about prior pain
So the abuse can remain
With the truth play loose and fast
So we can repeat the past
Thus I chose to walk away
And tore out my soul today

I tore my soul out today
I could see no other way
Politicians monger fear
Demonize for all to hear
Students who don’t fit their mold
“So call them out” I am told
Put them at risk of abuse
Parents, peers, teachers, a noose
Pretend that they don’t exist
Convince them they won’t be missed
Thus I chose to walk away
And tore out my soul today

I tore my soul out today
I could see no other way
If truth you wish to discern
Science is the way to learn
Enabling discovery
Dodge cognitive fallacy
Contradict what they hold true
Though they be wrong, they can sue
You will soon be out the door
And able to teach no more
Thus I chose to walk away
And tore out my soul today

I tore my soul out today
I could see no other way
Ten Commandments on the walls
Bible verses in the halls
Bow your head, it’s time to pray
Everyone in the same way
You’re entitled to your beliefs
Public schools aren’t your fiefs
Teach them to your own children
And not someone else’s kin
Thus I chose to walk away
And tore out my soul today

I tore my soul out today
I could see no other way
Underfunded; called disgrace
Education’s aim efface
Keep them stupid and oppressed
They ban the books they detest
Analyze and synthesize
And you can see through the lies
Education is the key
To upward mobility
But I had to walk away
And tore my soul out today

Oh the things I’ve had to survive…
Always weathering the storm; at what point do I thrive?
My experience did not equate to my deeds.
But I kept my dignity; could not bargain nor plead.
Yet I became sick, wondering how one could leave…
A new, single mother; another mouth to feed.
Nothing left to do but pause, make art, and follow His Lead.
Suspended in space; a moment of peace…
My heart beating fast; still no relief.
No time to cry or wonder why.
‘But oh, my darling, you are the eye.’
Nothing left to chase; no where left to go; no new ways to numb.
A look in the mirror; ‘Lord, what have I become?’
So disassociated; everyone must know…
Yet back into my body I go…
How scary? How almost unsafe?
‘Holy Mary…’ I connected with grace.
I made the world go quiet; kept my circle small…handed over my fears; cut any attention towards what could befall.
What a beautiful trinity; mother, child, and God.
Untouchable to any force that could poke or prod.
‘Go through your flow,’ I say to my class…with access to child’s pose; access to rest… With sovereignty, autonomy…too blessed to stress.
I considered the birthrights of peace and of breath… one hand on my belly; the other on my chest.
Access to my birthrights at any and all times; the power of presence was suddenly mine.
Permission to be new; permission to choose.
On the mat there is nothing to prove.
A look in my daughter’s eyes; she is everything I admire.
Such joy to relish in, before I expire.

This is me trying. Trying to find a new way, recognizing that the old way wasn’t working. Leaving behind an old identity. An old set of rules in favor of a new birth, rebirth, aggressively sought after alternative ending. I’m emerging as a new person, despite my unrelenting efforts to cling to what was.

Two months ago, I risked it all when I abandoned life as a lawyer, the only life I’d ever known. The life I’d spent decades building at the expense of so many important moments and memories. Since law school orientation, I’d worked overtime trying to orient my mind around the reality that I’d never be like them, bending and breaking myself to blend into a world that made no effort to accept me. It never fit. Or rather, I never fit.

So, I quit. And left my job to become a writer. I risked a step away from a carefully curated career in favor of a move toward an existence that would actually set my soul on fire. I made bold proclamations about not going back and cautiously counted coins and considered logistics, ways I’d support my family in the “in between.”

I thought on it. I prayed on it. I cried about it. I built momentum and discovered joy during daunting days of exploration. I found myself, lost her again, and laughed at the beauty of the journey. I spoke in a loud voice, one years in the making and I summoned the confidence to risk it all…again…and burn it to the ground, with the hopes of emerging from the ashes a battle tested phoenix. And I felt calmer than I expected.

Two months ago, I cut ties with reliable income, pronounced paths, predictable promotions, private planes, and bank-breaking bonuses. Two months ago, I bet on me. And I went to bed at night excited about who I was becoming, eager (for the first time) at the start of each day. I felt fulfilled. Full. Focused. Certain.

Two months ago, I ended it on my terms.

Three days later, I went out for a run and woke up in an ambulance. Brain injured. Memory erased. Creative vision demolished. Dreams crushed. Speech altered. Disoriented and disillusioned, I opened my eyes to the end of my new life. The death of my fresh start. The denial of the woman I’d fought to become.

Three days later, I realized that the fight was only just beginning when life brought me to my knees. Three days later, I cried real tears that burned my face and blurred my vision as they exited my weary eyes. Three days later, I realized that the best laid plans are, at times, the ones you must painfully and practically cast to the side.

Three days later, my life changed forever.

But today, I write again. I’ve picked up the pen to see what I can produce. This is my redemption story. Ending unknown.

This is me, bloody, bruised, but brave. This is me not easily broken. This is me, trying…