I set a goal for January to finish the first draft of chapter one of my memoir. The overachiever in me decided that I should also write an introduction. So, on the last day of the month, I typed the final words of both. It’s just a first draft, and I know it’ll take countless revisions, but there is satisfaction in completing that goal. Writing has been allowing me to sit with my thoughts, find the perfect words, and deeply process my experiences. It’s been cathartic in a way I didn’t expect, stirring up old emotions but also helping me release them.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about the ways I hold on to the past, to pain, to things I should have let go of long ago. I’ve spent years tying ropes around memories, clutching them tightly as if I might lose a piece of myself if I let them go. But all they’ve given me is rope burn. In sobriety and stroke recovery, I’ve learned that healing means loosening my grip on what’s behind me. When I allow myself to be present, I see the small but powerful connections happening around me, the moments I missed when I was so wrapped up in my own head.

The past keeps moving further away, and my job is to stay here, in this moment, and trust that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. There’s freedom in mentally staying where my feet are planted.

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