I’ve trudged through worse. I’ve paid higher dues. And I’ll be okay, just like I’ve always been.

It’s been over a year since those words were said to me: you’ll be okay, just like you’ve always been. They’ve never stopped revisiting like a dutiful cardinal or a pleasant house guest. And they’re no less true. I’ve always been okay, in fact I’ve always thrived. I’ve found ways to unwind my roots even in packed soil, ways to unfold my leaves even in dense canopy. The poet in me feels everything sharper, more profoundly. But thankfully, she only reigns the heart. The woman I am is keenly aware of the space she takes up and what she is capable of doing with it.

Perhaps there is nothing more beautiful than carrying on, nothing more graceful than not giving up. Every moment of the day when I wish to crumple on the kitchen floor and give it all away, I have a choice. And every moment of the day, I choose grace. I choose to try. I choose to see what happens if I don’t.

I am fatally flawed, but there is nothing to be done about that. I can never surpass my humanity. But even when I close my eyes at night to a racing heart, sleep finds me, because there is nothing I withheld from the day. In the end, no matter how much it wounds me, I won’t have to know the sour taste of regret.