Vulnerable doesn’t look good on me; it never has. I write to make sense of my emotions. I write to heal. While my words come from a place of love, sometimes they’re coupled with frustration, fear, pain. The process isn’t always pretty. I am tired of this weight I carry. But there’s never any rest for the weary, is there? So, I resume my place as the memory keeper—the strong, silent observer who picks up the pieces, fastens them back as well as I can, and holds it all together.