“Stay afraid, but do it anyway.” — Carrie Fisher
I’ve done it! I’ve finally decided what I need to do! It’s been 980 days since you left— for a while you could almost say I was gone too. I haven’t lived the same. Just survived— carrying now a bag with five kids in it across the river. One thing I know I want: a shelter to call my own. But how, when I must survive on one income? I came up with this idea to do more deliveries.
Day one of the new goal, and I already feel myself bracing for failure.
It’s 12:45pm and I’m still $68.45 short, left with the scattered, lonely orders I dread taking. I used to think it was the disorganization that exhausted me. Maybe it’s really the people. Maybe it’s the way my body still mistakes crowded rooms for danger.
Healing isn’t linear.
My heart is still a bucket of glass shards, waiting to become something whole again.
Rebuilding is in progress.
I sit in my car, blazing sun warming my body like a warm long hug— I’ve missed this. The way it feels to be outside, enjoying the sun and keeping myself moving. If only my heart could sustain the idea of being seen.
An order pops up on my screen. I immediately click on it to accept; it’s for $60.33— close enough for today. While still being hugged by the warm sun, I drive to my parking spot. Proud I believed in myself enough to come outside. Scared and all, I will choose to do it anyway.
On my last delivery I met a man with a super friendly dog. She heard my car—or maybe he saw me—and sent her to investigate. As I walked away from the conversation, I felt proud that I had enough strength to say hello.
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