The first time I speak publicly, my hands shake.
Not enough for anyone else to notice. Not enough to stop me. Just enough that I’m aware of them, resting on the edge of the podium, fingers pressed into smooth wood like it might anchor me if I drift too far into memory. The grain beneath my skin is cool and solid, real in a way my thoughts are not.
The room is full. Not massive, not intimidating, but full in a way that matters. Chairs occupied. Bodies leaned forward instead of back. Faces turned toward me, attentive without expectation. These people are not here to judge or dissect. They are here because they want to listen, because something in them needs this space to exist.
I breathe in slowly. Feel the familiar weight in my chest stir, that old instinct that expects danger where ther
