Her.

I visited an old home this week. I drove familiar streets, looked up at familiar trees. I pictured, smaller than they are now children, on bikes and squealing down giant slides. I visited old friends and felt in the moment as though no time had passed at all. As though my toddlers and primary school aged children were out on the grass playing with all the other kids while I was chatting inside. I visited a chapter of our lives, beautiful moments connected forever to the places I drove through and stood in daily for a time and then suddenly never. I visited someone else too. An old me. A version of myself who existed there. A version of me who pulled herself up out of some pretty thick, dark muck and took the first step to face the sun. I felt such immense gratitude to her. I felt overwhelmed by how much I owe her. She was the one to wonder about what life would be like, how it might change, how I would feel and be different if I had what I needed, what was required to be able to handle all of the need I was being asked to meet in a day. She was the one to ask the question “What do I need? What would it take for this to feel easier?” and to hear the response “I have no idea”. She was the one to take hold of that response, to look, to listen and to ask again “But why?” and “What can we do about that?”. She was the one who started to speak out loud, who showed up here to share about the many facets and layers of the answers she found, which led to more questions and more answers and eventually to the change that she had wondered about to begin with. I am so grateful to her. I owe her everything.