The way I see it right now, I am laying on my couch with my dog after stretching on my mat and sitting upside down in a fetal position for a good long while. I let the blood rush to my head. I let my body settle. I tried to bring myself back into the moment.

I am trying not to obsess over what the universe has planned for my next chapter.

It could be something amazingly profound.

It could also be something painful and damaging.

I spent forty years in darkness and pain. Then my mother died. I ran away. I hurt myself with total strangers. I met someone who felt like coming home, and then we hurt each other too.

Now it feels like I am living in a dream.

I followed the white rabbit, and I do not want to wake up again.

I just want to find a balance where we can both be happy. Where our positive dreams can become real. Where peace on earth is not just a phrase people say in December. Where goodwill exists toward all creatures. Where people realize pain is not equal, healing is not simple, and happiness is deserved when you are willing to give love without losing yourself completely.

Maybe I am naive.

Maybe I live in a fantasy world.

Maybe the music I listen to is just music that makes me want to dance. Or maybe it inspires me to imagine a better version of this planet and everyone living on it. Maybe I wish we could all see more than one perspective at a time instead of staying trapped inside our own pain.

Our parents only ever seemed to care about what they went through.

How many times did we hear something like, “I used to walk to school uphill both ways in the snow with no shoes. Consider yourself lucky”?

They did not always realize they were passing down the pain of the generations before them.

I once told one of my parents, “Yeah, and you were whipped with a branch or twig when you got blood on the cotton you were picking too.”

Because that is how I broke some of my own generational trauma.

I called my parents out on their shit.

Maybe that is why people are reminded of their mother when I am around. Or their big sister. Or a teacher. Or some kind of authority figure.

It is like I give people permission to be themselves, as long as they do not act stupid, hurt people, or break the law. Be whoever you are actually supposed to be. Just be responsible for the way your choices affect other people.

But I hope you realize something important.

The only person you truly need permission from to be yourself is you.

Go into the bathroom. Look in the mirror. Tell yourself you deserve to become the best version of yourself every single day.

Then see what that person looks like.

Start small.

Maybe it is walking outside to the mailbox. Maybe it is changing one soda for water. Maybe it is calling someone you care about once a week just to check in. Small gestures add up quickly.

For me, I am trying to get my protein in. Stretch. Do some form of cardio. Work on my project. Gain someone’s attention in a way that feels honest and alive.

I wish I had a gym to go to every day and a partner to join me. I wish I felt as comfortable swimming as I did when I was a kid.

But I finally love singing and dancing again.

That is a massive improvement.

My youngest son gets to know this version of me. I hope my family and friends get to know her too.

This is the real version of me.

The one that matters most.

The version of me that is going to change the world.

I do not want to call people out just to hurt them. I do not want to be mean. I want people to think about their own choices. I want them to understand how the things they do and say affect the people in their lives.

Did making your partner feel like your second choice do something for you?

Did you enjoy making them feel hurt?

Are you talking to your children about who they are, or are you only talking to them about yourself?

Because when children become their own people, we are supposed to give them the spotlight. We are supposed to let them discover themselves. Then, when they start asking questions about us, we can tell them the truth.

And the truth hurts sometimes.

It sucks.

Breaking patterns is hard.

Being a better human is one of the most difficult things we can ask of ourselves. Giving up anger is hard. Turning pain into love is hard. Taking the fire inside of you and putting pure love into your passion is hard.

But that is what makes change happen.

Really.

Maybe my back still hurts from the epidural I had nearly eight years ago. Maybe that pain reminds me of the choice I made when I gave up the possibility of having another child. One more life. One more baby.

At the time, I felt like I did not have a choice.

I felt like I would die if I had another baby with that man.

And maybe I would have.

Now I feel like a part of me will die if I cannot have one.

But I want it to happen naturally. Without medical intervention. Without force. Without feeling like I am begging science, fate, or God to give me something I already grieved.

How messed up is that?

A medical miracle.

Impossible.

A real dream come true.