For years, I kept moving. Always moving. That sounds strong, doesn’t it? Like resilience. Like faithfulness. Like doing what needed to be done. And some of it was. I raised my children. I showed up. I carried responsibilities. I kept a home running. I kept going when life was heavy, when marriage was hard, when motherhood required more of me than I knew how to give, when grief and disappointment settled into places I did not have language for yet. I gave everything to the people and things in my life, not realizing that I was slowly losing who I was. 23 years of pouring out, and not much filling…