anxiety
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Uncertainty turns silence into sirens and thoughts into sharp little things, forcing the body to survive futures that have not happened.
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She scrubs, folds, and prepares every room as though order could bargain with the universe for the footsteps she is waiting to hear.
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A hope for the day relief no longer comes with judgment, conditions, or the fear of losing everything she has fought for.
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Somewhere between therapy and the forest, smoke becomes a ritual for quiet, creativity, laughter, and returning to yourself.
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No test can measure the nights, panic, meals, mornings, and quiet work behind a mother proving she can keep choosing her children.
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She did not stop needing relief; she chose sobriety because tiny hands needed her more, even when the old ritual still calls.
Between Bruises & Blooms 