Breathing in the Forgiveness Blend

What’s a chapter of your life you’d title “The Hard Years” — and what got you through it?

Forgiveness has become a disciplined reflex. A curious practice of breathing in, letting go, and beginning again.

Every year has its stories. The hardest, though, were the years of childhood.

Back then, I had no words for the depression and anxiety I felt. I hid in a tiny closet, nose in a book, or sat there in bed staring at a Tylenol bottle as a possible escape. That frightened child couldn’t imagine the woman she’d become.

I was a quiet kid in a linen closet. I still am that most days. These prompted answers are my emotional yoga poses.

No one seems to notice. Most of the time I prefer it that way.

Anger asks us to hold our breath. Forgiveness teaches us to exhale.

Now I’m a laughing yogi. I go to therapy and cry tears of release until those chapters begin to soften into a wiser kind of smile. Oy, the wrinkles are arriving already.

I make dandelion tear soup now, too. These days I feel full—of books, laughter, and quiet wonder.

God is still in my mind and heart, and the verses about forgiveness keep rising to the surface. They’ve become so woven into me that I even diffuse “Forgive” essential oil—a fragrant reminder to keep breathing, letting go, and beginning again.