I have told my husband often over the years that he makes me real.
Much of my life I have felt like I would blow away, that my grasp of what it takes to exist, much less succeed was too shaky, too limited.
I wake up every day with a house and a car and a real life that never ceases to astonish me.
Really? He says to me, with limited patience for drama.
I put one foot in front of the other and I fake it until, one day hopefully, I will make being feel totally normal.