I reflect back to when I was 19 years old and I made the decision to go to treatment. I told my mom I needed a couple of weeks. Whether it was something deeper inside me saying I need to let go of people, or the fear of I'm changing — who am I going to be when I get out — I have no idea what the truth is behind that. Probably a combination of all of it. I'm getting emotional just saying it. Which tells me I'm talking about the right thing. Because that is very similar to righ

I walked through every room in my house with one word. Thank you. Every room. The bathrooms. The laundry. Every single room in this place. Just walking through with the sage, saying thank you for everything you've done for me. That's how this week started. Not with a vision or a ceremony. Just gratitude and smoke and every room in a house I'm leaving.

The candle burned out this week. I knew it was coming. I had been watching it every morning for thirteen days — one candle left from the last ceremony, burning down a little more each time I sat down to meditate. Every morning I would look at it and wonder: is today the day? And every morning it was still lit. Then one morning I opened my eyes and it was out.

Halfway home from something beautiful and dark, something came out of my mouth that I hadn't planned to say. I knew I needed to have a conversation with her. But about halfway home, something else came out. Something I hadn't planned.