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Yes I will be the strange little adopted stray cat nobody asked for – the quiet skittish one who doesn’t like strangers but eventually puts her trust in the ones who put in the most effort

Yes I will sneak into your house without knocking first and use the kitchen to make bread

Yes I’ll share my favorite shows

Yes I will sit beside you and play video games while you play an entirely different video game like two feet away from me and yes we can share a bag of candy and you can have the variety with coconuts and almonds and I’ll take the kind with chocolate and peanut butter and it works out

Yes I will go swimming in the nearest available body of water even when the water is freezing yes we can skip rocks

Yes I will lay outside on a blanket and look up at the stars, yes there will be campfire smoke

Yes we can do puzzles and play cards

Yes I will climb trees and walk the trails in the woods

Yes I will help you with your algebra homework, I am better at this than you are because you keep getting distracted by the shapes of the letters, you dumbass

Yes I will listen to a podcast or an audiobook or the same album over and over again until we know all the words and yes we can doodle in the margins of a notebook

Yes you can borrow my books and look at the pictures

Yes.

You are not the only person who has ever had a meltdown in a café when their dog dies and nobody is sure how to honor the dead and there are no words to talk about it.

You are not the only person who stopped speaking and slammed doors and threw tantrums and pointed fingers when life got to be too much.

You are not the only person who needed to escape, when nothing felt safe.

You are not the only one.

when I’m upset, I probably need to take a shower, eat a snack, drink water, and step outside in the quiet and stillness for a moment to breathe. look up at the stars.

make soup, make bread.

I may also need a distraction – something to do with my hands. I crochet a ball of yarn into a flat square, then unravel again.

I need to walk in solitude several times a walk.

it’s helpful to leave home for long enough to drive into town – sing along to the radio, park behind the funeral home. I often pick up snacks at the convenience store.

when I can’t sleep, I turn on an audiobook or a podcast, light a candle, fold laundry, play a video game, read a book.

when I’m upset, I need to remember to do these things.

What are you afraid of?

I am not afraid of dogs, though I have been bitten by dogs, in my lifetime. I still have the scars, although they are fading. No, I will not show you. No, I will not tell you which dogs.

I am not afraid of cold water. I’ll jump into cold water, feet first.

I’m a little afraid of being trapped under the ice.

I am not afraid of mononucleosis, nor am I afraid of lyme disease.

I am not afraid of being burned and stung by bleach, by poison ivy, by nettles, by hot wax, by mosquitoes. I am not afraid of smoke in my lungs. I’m not afraid of mice, or rats. I am not afraid of mud or ice between my toes.

I am not afraid of growth, or of fading away to nothing, of not quite fitting into my clothes.

I am not afraid of being hungry, or thirsty.

I am not afraid of pain.

I’m not afraid of blood. I have bled every month since I was eleven. Heavily. In the early years, there was no pain medication, because pain medication was Bad For You.

I am not afraid of being perceived, of being seen, of being known.

I am not afraid of men. Men are easy to tame.

I am not afraid of women. Women are brilliant.

I’m not afraid of children. Children are honest, even when they “don’t get it.”

I’m not afraid of anyone.

I’m not afraid to grow old, to lose my sight, my hearing, my teeth, or my bones. I am not afraid to wrinkle. I am not afraid to be buried. I am not afraid to burn.

I am not afraid of dying, of going to sleep for the last time.

I’m not afraid of carrying a child.

I’m not afraid of giving birth.

I’m not afraid of mirrors.

And I’m not afraid of you.

“What’s up?” he asks.

He always asks this.

I glance up, out of habit.

I can see the stars.

Unraveling.

(1) Where is all this shame coming from

(2) How do I make it stop