The Promise I Never Forgot.

I’m angry.

I’m angry that I went through things that changed me this deeply. I’m angry that years later, something can happen and suddenly I’m right back there again.

I’m angry that I can be sitting in a meeting, looking completely normal, while a picture of my son as a six-week-old baby in a hospital bed flashes through my mind.

I’m angry that I spent years being the person who had to know everything, remember everything, advocate, protect, prepare and hold it together. I’m angry that some part of me still believes that if I am not there, something terrible could happen.

I’m angry that people can look at me and not understand any of this. That sometimes what I need is compassion, and instead I feel like I have to explain why something hurt me so much in the first place.

And maybe more than anything, I’m angry that I’m still dealing with it.

I want to be better. I want these things to stay in the past where they belong. I don’t want to wake up at 5 a.m. in a panic or lose a few seconds of an ordinary day because my brain decided to show me something I never wanted to see again.

But this is where I am right now.

I’m angry.

And I think I’m allowed to say that without turning it into something inspirational.

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