Ripples of Change

Days roll on, but now with new light. When I drop the kids at school, my son waves a paper covered in coiling fish and says he's staying after to paint a coral reef with friends. My daughter talks about saving dolphins from plastic, her eyes shining bright. I'm doing the same: I draw friendly fish in the margins of work receipts, and even the free calendars in the dealership have an ocean scene I made. I see in my children's faces the spark I almost forgot I had.

My husband is my anchor. He helped me clear a corner of the basement for art supplies and built me a tiny desk. One evening he wraps me in a hug and says, "You look happy again." He's right: I do feel happy, more present. Anxiety still knocks, but I let it out in splashes of color instead of panic. My colleagues at the cabinet shop now call me "the dreamer" affectionately, and I smile at the name.

A simple family project begins: we write and illustrate a short children's book about a girl swimming with sea turtles and overcoming her fears. My daughter scribbles beside me, my son cuts and pastes, and I guide them through tide pools of imagination. When the book is finished, we print it at home - simple photocopies with crayon borders - and send copies to grandparents and neighbors. It's modest, but it's ours.