i always get a little shaky when i read my words, and i still do too. I felt good writing that poem, and it's still part of me. But in the exile was am a piece of me that wants to be home, wants to feel safe. My body just started panicking, and it never stopped for six weeks,. hasn't it am? And i've been learning from it, learning deeply. Like, what's here? If this was so clearly my truth, why does my body feel like this? So i made a commitment to be with the feelings, and am not to gaslight them and not to bi pass them, and to listen to them.

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