From now on, when I sense No—in a facial expression, in a tone of voice, in someone’s disapproval of me, in my own mind—my mental response will be, Fuck you. Fuck you is what I say to fear, to doubt, to shame, to every form of No, Glennon, not for you. Fuck you is all the language I have for now. It’s my shield. It’s my ode to Mary. It’s my prayer

We either allow ourselves to feel the burn of our own pain or someone we love gets burned by it. Craig

I look at the blue cross and decide I will let it be. I will stop deeming myself unworthy of invitations and trust the inviter. I will test out the ridiculous, nonsensical possibility that somehow, in some way I can’t yet see, I will rise to meet this call. Yes, my soul says,

How can I let them suffer something I’ve not suffered myself?

We think our job as humans is to avoid pain, our job as parents is to protect our children from pain, and our job as friends is to fix each other’s pain. Maybe that’s why we all feel like failures so often—because we all have the wrong job description for love. What my friends didn’t know about me and I didn’t know about Amma is that people who are

“Maybe, for now, the only right decision is to stop making decisions.”

We’ve spent our time together talking about everything but what matters. We’ve never brought to each other the heavy things we were meant to help each other carry.

Today I feel different. I want to be healthy. I just don’t know how. I feel like my heart is failing and I’ve been trying to perform heart surgery on myself.

Growing up is an unbecoming. My healing has been a peeling away of costume after costume until here I am, still and naked and unashamed before God, stripped down to my real identity. I have unbecome. And now I stand: Warrior. Undressed for battle. Strong and benevolent. Both yin and yang. Complete, not in need of completing.