I thought I was ok. I had miscarried naturally twice before. But I wasn’t ok. I’m not ok.
My inner child is there, very real, and her presence is strong. But my love for her is stronger.
A little while back, during one of her wonderfully vulnerable moments, my best childhood girlfriend asked me, “How do I deal with my Mom dying, Rae—how do I get ready?”
This week I turned 41. It’s a day I thought I’d never see. I was sure I would be dead by 25 the way I was living. Homeless at 21, due to the choices I was making, I didn’t feel I had or was even worthy of any other options.