now and then, i break out dancing in my kitchen in the reckless way i used to only do if i shut all the blinds.
I’ve done years of therapy, of self-help, of journaling, of body positivity, and I still can’t look myself in the eyes.
I’m better in that I’m not on the scale every week, but I also have to be blind weighed at the doctor’s, still, because the number makes me jumpy.
You wonder if you can reach out. But you figure he’s in a better place now-best to leave it untouched. Best not to bother anyone.
I can tell you one thing—healing feels like hell. But feeling like you’re in the middle of a hurricane is better than dragging yourself through the overcast every day for years on end.