A reflection on childhood hiding places, favourite trees, shifting perspective, and the kind of safety we spend years trying to find our way back to. Sometimes growing doesn’t look like becoming more. Sometimes it looks like remembering where you once felt safe enough to simply be.
What happens when the version of yourself built on pushing, adapting, and reading the room starts to fall apart? Anita 3.0 is still buffering, somewhere between who I was and whoever comes next.
Some nights, figuring out what to eat feels like one decision too many. This is my very real, very repeatable stovetop popcorn supper for tired-brain evenings.
