Not broken exactly,  just somehow off the map everyone else seemed to be following. I was the late bloomer, the outlier, the one who took the longer road to almost everything. I went to therapy earlier than most people I knew, and I kept going back. Not because it wasn't working, I loved the self-reflection and the opportunity to peel back more layers. I could always get something out of a session. I'm a person who wants to understand herself, and talk therapy gave me language for my life.

But at some point the language stopped being enough.

I had two young kids and I was determined to show up for them differently than I had been shown up for. I was doing the work — mentally, emotionally, relationally. I could figure things out. And yet my body kept getting more tired, more stuck. I had hit a ceiling I couldn't think my way through.