This tree was sacred because it offered shelter. For nothing in exchange other than my presence, other than for me to simply walk beneath its leaves and sigh and be loved and walk on. It cradled me, held me within its curving limbs, said, “Here, you are safe. You may take as long as you need.”

I was crying, shoulders hunched as I plodded forward after my dog, head tilted back. Couldn't someone just judge me once so I could feel some freaking peace already?

When we are small, it is easier to reject our selves than it is to reject the actions or beliefs of those on whom we depend. Even if, somewhere deep inside, somewhere right and true and full of wisdom, we know they are wrong.

So we learn how to cope. We abandon little parts of ourselves that we deemed unlovable, and shift and change until we become the little people that our caregivers will accept.

We do everything we can to abandon ourselves so that we, ourselves, will not be abandoned.

And then, if we are brave enough, we someday learn how to bring our selves back together.

I haven’t had a drink in ten days.

For some people, this is no big deal. A sad, measly number, perhaps.

For others, it might sound like a huge accomplishment–something to be proud of.

For me… it’s the latter.