A Loose, Normal Stride Past the Glass Doors

Dear Delyara, For four years, my commute has required me to walk past that specific red brick crossing where everything was taken from me in 2022. Every single time I approached that street, my stomach would turn into a knot of liquid heat, my chin would drop straight down to my chest, and I would hurry past like a dog trying to avoid a blow, my heart hammering against my ribs. But today, when I reached the corner, I stopped. I forced my breathing down deep into my stomach, braced my shoulders, and deliberately looked right at the glass doors of that building. I took a slow, heavy step forward, keeping my eyes fixed ahead, and I just walked past with a normal, loose stride. My hands didn't shake. My throat didn't close up. The sky didn't fall. Standing on the other side of the street in the morning air, I realized the bricks didn't have any power over me anymore. I finally have my body back.