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In early April, I was sitting in a coffee shop in London writing an email to my parents. It was a rainy Monday, fittingly, and I was writing to let them know I was leaving my job, and no, I didn't really have a plan yet. I was emotionally exhausted and nervous, and every time I looked over at my friend Mikaela, she was visibly worried about me. At some point, I took a deep breath, looked up, and saw this Marcelina Amelia illustration hanging above me with the words "I'm fine" written at the bottom. It immediately made me laugh, because for many of us, this is as far as we get in processing things with not only our parents and our peers, but with ourselves. I'm so often that secretly scared girl pedaling the three-tiered bike with postured (and prideful) independence. But I was reminded in that moment of what I had been a few times before and have several times since: People can tell when we're not "fine", it's OK to be not fine, it's human to fall, and i'm better off if I've kept my friends and family close enough to spot me.

I'm still learning that the art of trying to convince myself and everyone else that "I'm fine" doesn't actually fix anything. And most often what I (and they) need most is a window into my brokenness. 

So here's to better owning the unknowns and scary stuff we're navigating. May we start by admitting to someone close to us that we don't feel fine, but that we're figuring it out, and we'll take their prayers, wisdom, and shoulder as we do. And may we begin to find the words "I'm not fine" are what truly make us family.

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