Controlling her desire to control will always be the heartbeat, the lifeblood of a battle that will never fully recede, though it is indeed a war she is finally winning. She wins every time she stares her want down cold. Her steely eyes work to stop it dead. It's her wielded weapon, this ...
Know that she’s looking at times for a soft space to land; to let go without judgment, without being told she needs to be fixed. Without being asked what’s wrong. Without being condemned or looked down upon. Without being made to feel like she’s failed simply for showing another side of herself.