Every September, before my mind remembers, my body does. It gets a little more tired. A little more guarded. A little more tender. And this year, I wondered if maybe that isn't something I need to fix.
Maybe romanticizing my life isn’t pretending the hard parts aren’t real. Maybe it’s choosing, every once in a while, to notice the charming parts too.
I’d love for intuition to arrive wearing a little name tag that says, “Hello, you may trust me.”
Unfortunately, anxiety apparently owns the same outfit.
So I’m learning to listen to what I feel without immediately believing everything it tells me.
