11. The Snake & The Feather

So much has changed over the last few months. On paper, I should have been able to breathe.

But I wasn't breathing. Not fully. I was bracing.

That's what survival mode does. It keeps one hand on the doorframe at all times, waiting for the next gut punch. You don't exhale, because exhaling feels like letting your guard down.

Then Thursday happened. Then Friday. Then Sunday came back for one more swing.

None of it was fun in the moment. Looking back, honestly? It's almost funny. The kind of off-the-wall, you-can't-make-this-up chaos that belongs in a sitcom.

But here's what I'm proud of.

I'm not proud that it all worked itself out.

I'm proud that I was different.

For the first time in a very long time, I didn't make it bigger than it was. I didn't spiral. I didn't panic. I didn't rehearse fourteen worst-case endings before breakfast.

I just handled it. One thing at a time.

I learned a few lessons. I made some unexpected connections. I kept moving.

That might not sound like much.

For me, it was everything.

The Part That Wasn't A Sign

I want to give myself credit for something that had nothing to do with the universe, or signs, or feathers.

This past week, I finally made a decision I'd been putting off. A completely independent one. Something I knew — knew — I needed to do for my own healing.

Truthfully, I should have done it sooner.

But I'm human. Sometimes we understand exactly what has to happen and we're simply not ready until we're ready. That's not weakness. That's timing.

So I made the move.

Most people will never know what I'm talking about, and that's okay. Not every act of freedom needs an audience.

I just know it had been holding me back.

And it mattered.

Something shifted after that. I stopped standing still. I started moving forward — not because life got easier, but because I finally chose to participate in my own healing instead of waiting for healing to happen to me.

That's the difference between flight and freedom.

Flight is getting out.

Freedom is choosing what you do next.

Then There Was A Snake

Yesterday, I walked into my courtyard and found a very large snake.

I knew it wasn't venomous. My first thought wasn't even about me.

It was about Ace.

He's old. He wouldn't see it. What if he startled it? What if it struck?

I eventually went about my day. But the snake stayed in the back of my mind, the way threats do when you've spent a long time learning to watch for them.

And then this happened.

My friend Diana — my second mother, one of my greatest mentors — came over with some beautiful purses and a few other things she wanted me to sell on Poshmark. We'll split whatever they bring, or maybe just put it toward one of our dinners. I told her how much I love slipping little surprise gifts into my orders.

Before she left, she handed me a bag of T-shirts.

We hugged. We promised each other things are getting better. We both walked away lighter than when she arrived.

One shirt caught my attention immediately.

It was red.

Then I saw the date.

It was Lauren's date of passing.

Then I read the design.

One Foot in Front of the Other.

Lucky Star.

Hope.

It wasn't about the shirt.

It was a reminder.

Keep walking. One foot in front of the other. Hope is still here.

Look up.

So I did.

The Damselfly

The next morning, I carried Ace outside and noticed what I thought was a dragonfly resting on a bush in the courtyard.

Curious, I looked it up.

Not a dragonfly. A damselfly.

Naturally, I fell straight down the rabbit hole.

Dragonflies symbolize transformation after hardship.

Damselflies symbolize presence. Adaptability. Gentleness. Perspective. Learning to move with life instead of bracing against it.

Which is, more or less, the entire assignment I've been given this year.

Hours later, I walked back outside.

The damselfly was gone.

But in that same bush — a few leaves from where it had been sitting — was a barred owl feather.

I just stood there.

Because barred owls eat snakes.

Yesterday, a snake in my courtyard.

Today, a feather from the animal that hunts them.

Do I know that owl caught that snake?

Of course I don't.

But I don't think that's the point.

What healing actually looks like

A few months ago, I would have only seen the snake.

Today, I noticed the feather too.

Maybe that's what healing is. Not that life stops sending snakes — it doesn't — but that your eyes start catching the evidence that you're being looked after.

Maybe it's coincidence.

Maybe it isn't.

I've stopped needing to know the answer. That need to have it all figured out was just another form of bracing.

What I do know is this.

For the last year I've prayed for peace. For protection. For direction. I've prayed that one day I'd stop living in survival mode — always waiting for the next thing to go wrong.

This week felt different.

Not because my life became perfect. Not because my problems disappeared.

But because something inside me moved.

I made a choice to go forward.

I handled hard things differently.

I looked up instead of only looking down.

And somewhere between a mentor's unexpected gift, a shirt that spoke straight to my heart, a small damselfly, and the feather of a barred owl, I realized something:

Healing doesn't arrive all at once. It arrives one quiet reminder at a time.

One foot in front of the other.

Hope.

Look up.

And trust that sometimes, even when you couldn't see it —

YOU'VE BEEN PROTECTED ALL ALONG.