The Promise
The Promise We had a blast. We went on rides, giggled, and made core memories. All of this after a 30-minute meltdown. When someone we love has a hyperconnected brain and lives with their anxiety as closely as skin is to tissue, moments of crisis are simply part of our lives. But years ago, I made her a promise: We will not stop living. We will live life. We will not be spectators to it. Though sometimes, I happen to feel like we are the main attraction and the show itself. As did this past weekend at a local festival. People watched. In fact, some stood and watched the entire 30-minute episode. And here's the thing. Her heart said yes. Yes to the rides. Yes to the fun. Yes to the memories. And even yes to the paper wristband that felt like splinters against her skin. But simulataneously, her neurocognition said no. No to the people staring at her during a time of difficulty. No to classmates coming over to say hi while she was struggling. No to the rides. No to the fun. No to bein...
