I slept through the first two thirds of 2017 under a blanket of the heaviest sadness I’ve ever known. In April I heard the first notes of a musical that nudged me awake, and I started to write. Now I’m learning how to breathe again, learning how to stand on knees that shake, and I know there’s still days to come when they won’t quite hold me up, and that’s okay because they’ve been through a lot and they deserve to rest when they need it. But I’m grateful for every day that I can stand, I’m grateful that I’m learning to come home to my bones and my skin. Every day that I manage to stand up on these uncertain legs is a good thing. I’m safe here, and I’m going to say it again and again until I believe it.