…and I wait. For the eyes to find me. For the mouths to tell me. For the hands to welcome me.
But I should not.
I need my own permission first. Why is that so dang hard to remember?
I should not.
And yet again and again, as if some type of arm and leg workout, I’m pulling myself back up, hoping this time I remember.
That I remember to give myself permission to [type your response here].