I’ve been scrolling through old pages of this blog. Writing is absolutely humiliating, but I have to write. In scrolling through old posts, I came across some of the old stuff from last winter and spring, where I was bravely trying to sort through the fog of having my life turned upside down. I was saying things like, “I feel okay,” and “This doesn’t feel wrong, necessarily,” and in hindsight I can see how hard I was trying to convince myself that I was okay, when I was not okay.

In “cycling,” I wrote “In about a year, I’m sure I’ll have much more clarity over the situation,” which makes me feel such compassion for that girl. “No,” I want to say. “No, you won’t have more clarity in a year, my dear. This year will be one of the most painful and terrible years you will endure. You will not be okay.”

One year later, maybe the only clarity I have is that I was completely undone last year, and I own that now. I’ll never be the same, and I no longer try to say things like, “I like my life now,” or “This makes sense,” because it does not make sense. The only thing I’ve learned a year later is to own that painful truth more than I could a year ago.