What you don’t see is that one inch needle I inject into the skin of my belly every Saturday: the counting to three, the self-talks of “you got this bitch” and “just do it’s”; all so I can live a life you call normal and take for granted. What you don’t see is the athletic front-load squats these thick-muscled legs can perform. What you don’t see is how I show up for the people I love because it takes a village is the truth I live by. What you don’t see is how I advocate for those kids who need me, us to show up even when we are scared. What you don’t see is the way I powerfully plunge into unknown waters with absolute faith that I will learn to swim through every mistake. What you don’t see is the way I share—truth, my truth, even when it’s ugly and dirty and contaminated, so that we can use it to band together and change this world for your children.
What
you
don’t
see
Is my absolute courage, intelligence, love, and power—
