I wanted to write a hero story about my one year sobriety anniversary, a story about all the presence I’ve experienced with my children. About the peace and patience that have found permanent spots in my body. About behaviors that used to be wildly foreign and uncomfortable, like saying no, sitting still, and honoring myself. These behaviors have become more familiar. 

I wanted to write about healing by unearthing pain from my body, and letting it go, but that makes the journey sound too transcendent. In reality, days have been hard, and often grueling. They require discipline and self-care.

There is no coping mechanism for being jarred awake in life.

The greatest lesson I’ve learned in life is that my path is not my plan. I can’t hold onto anything. Nothing is mine – not even my own boys. I get to guide them, teach them, and observe them in awe, but the path God has set for them is not up to me. I am a witness to their journey, and hopefully I can honor that position.

Have you ever looked around at the toys on the floor, the dishes in the sink, and the tiny handprints on the walls and wondered, “Did I really manifest this?” “Is this the life I asked for?”

Some of us were born with a wild heart – a heart that wants to remain open, despite any risk of being discovered and damaged.