With each incoming tide of depression, the wind carries with it feelings of inadequacy. What begins as soft whispers gets louder as it draws nearer, crashing into the rocks and filling every crevice in which I might have hidden my guilt and my shame, confining me as I try to escape the onslaught of grief, fear, and desperation.

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“I don’t have enough to meet the needs of my family.”

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“What I can give to the volunteer team is just not enough.”

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“Who I am will never be good enough.”

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“If others really knew me, knew my thoughts and my anxieties, they, too, would say I am weak and not good enough.”

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This is my story of freedom.