My life is at its most complicated, and yet I am at my most comfortable, because I am completely present. I have been able to strip away the trappings of pretense that held me hostage for so long, that made me play a role that didn’t fit me, that had one spoken voice and another, louder voice in my head that I stifled.

My children are eight and five. They’re healthy, happy kids, with anxieties and quirks, but geez, they’re my kids, so that was a given.

I love my job. I feel that I am one of those few fortunate individuals who has fallen into the exact right position. I am just as at home at work as I am, well, at home. I’ve been working for the same county mental health department for 16 years overseeing a variety of public mental health services. It’s busy. It’s rewarding. It’s thankless. I can’t imagine doing anything else. I meet people in the community who do everything they can to help others, and I meet individuals whose lives are completely fucked up, and then I meet them when they’re better. Or not. Sometimes I just continue meeting them, and I hope that what I can offer is enough.

Relatively speaking, I’m recently divorced and recently in love. That’s all I’ll say about that.

That’s where I am.