"how lovely is the silence of growing things."

Growth. The act of the Phoenix rising from the ashes. Believing that you are worth something and doing your damnedest to make something beautiful out of the complicated webs of your past. Some might call it your swan song, that last-ditch attempt to follow the dreams that once made your fragile teenage heart cry out with joy and salvation. Don't listen to the ghosts of broken relationships in your head. Don't listen to the shadows of your darkest moments when you have finally made it into the light.

You're here. You. Are. HERE.

I know that the ghost of nineteen-year-old you is running through your memory right now. The heartbreak. The secrets. The lies. The choices you thought you were making freely at the time but now aren't so sure. Rooting around in my own memory bank always sucks me in like quicksand. The last six years have been a lot of, "How far can we run in the exact opposite direction of this problem? Don't even pack the car. Just get in and GO." And when we run out of gas it turns into, "Now how much work can I throw myself into so I don't have to sift through the junk in my head?"

I spent a lot of nineteen and twenty driving the back roads with my friends, windows down and music up, chain-smoking cigarettes to Kenosha and back, fighting over who couldn't make up their mind about who's phone was on shuffle. Not being at home was the priority. Working two jobs 7 days a week, plus having a social life meant I was constantly go-go-go 24/7. Through an abusive relationship, an unrequited love of my life, to intervention and finding Justin, my M.O. was to always just keep going. You'll get through it. The bruises don't matter (but they do). The empty kisses don't matter (but they did). The choices you made are staring you in the face again. The distance you put between you and your demons only lasts for so long.

You made it through the darkness already. You have eyes that can see in the dark. Your brain just needed time and space to catch up. I know going back to curling in a ball on reflex like a rollie pollie bug isn't ideal. Going back to that place where the guy you were sleeping with demanded you make a choice: your passion or Him still hits that tender spot in your heart hard enough to make it crack again. Give yourself grace. You don't have to forgive him for what he did, but you need to forgive yourself for the choices you made to survive. You are not just a faceless silhouette anymore, shrouded in darkness and strategically scattered bruises. You still have a beating heart beneath those ribs. Can you hear it singing? Can you see the light that has returned to your eyes?

You're a warrior now. Put your armor on and get ready for the fight.