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Most of that time I cry on my drive home after class.I cry out of frustration that I stopped fifteen years ago, I cry because I’m proud of myself, I cry because I’m grateful for knowing the right people, I cry because I can’t gain her validation for my efforts even though I desperately need it.Get up every day This doesn’t sound like a big deal but if you’ve ever suffered from depression then you may know that sometimes getting out of bed is like running a marathon (or so I’ve heard because I can barely run a mile).The only way I can describe it is like when you used to play Sandman as a kid.In July of this year, six months after my mother passed away, a friend shared a post about an Adult Ballet Class in my area that was taught by a mutual friend.

None of these things bugged me, sometimes I even reveled in my ambivalence towards them. I let myself feel sadness; I let it wash over me in what almost feels like a cathartic ritual.She was never big on her birthday; she just loved any excuse to get everyone together – the only family she had in England.As I sit here, fighting back tears, I think about everyone in my life who has lost a loved one; everyone I am in awe of and I admire like my own, personal superheroes.But I went, and together with the lovely ladies of the class I found my feet again.I am now training to be leveled, which may take years, but I practice most days and will continue to do so.

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