“She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses,” cried the young student, “but in all my garden there is no red rose.”*

“Too much.”

“Not enough.”

“You don’t matter.”

These are the lies that I’ve internalized, that I’ve woven into every fiber of my being. I’m trying to untangle them now, and it’s a strange process. For the past few months, this has been my prayer.