If I waited to come up with a a title I liked I might never actually write this, so deep breath, friends, and away we go.

I’m going to start at the end.

I think that will make it easier for me, for all of us really.

Hiding. From my children. To listen to taytay.

Last week, I started listening to music again. I put Taylor Swift’s Folklore on in the car in an attempt to mellow the kids on a long drive down to the beach for a getaway, and it worked, but something else happened too. I opened the sun roof. I turned the volume up, flying down PCH with four of my very favorite people in the whole wide world. I felt it, the music, the ocean air, all of it, rushing through my body. Later that weekend, I went for bike ride all alone, earbuds in, volume up, Folklore again, my own private soundtrack, riding with no hands down the alleys along the beach, grinning through my mask. At the end of the weekend, Jim took the kids home and I stayed to clean and close up the beach house. Folklore, on my phone, in a coffee cup to amplify the sound, while I sang off key, vacuumed and folded the endless pile of towels. At some point, at some key change, I felt my breath catch in my throat, and realized I was crying. I sat on the floor, heavy with the realization that I haven’t listened to music for the last three years. I’ve certainly heard music or had music inflicted on me, but it has been about three years since I’ve had the capacity to listen to it. I’m sure I’ll branch out from Taytay, but right now I’ve captured some neurological lightning in a bottle and I’m working slowly from there.

Over the past six months I’ve been discovering a lot of things that drifted and were ripped away while during my nearly 3 year long depressive episode: my laugh when it is free and easy, not sarcastic and full of pain, my body, alive and thrumming, stronger than I realized and a source of great joy, my mind, brimming with half formed ideas eager for debate and encouragement, and a well of compassion and patience that I really feared I had lost, all together

But music, (deep breath, Kate), I had truly forgotten about music.

There is so much more of this story to tell, parts that are much harder, so much so that it just felt safer for all of us, to start with the happy ending. Last night, I put on Dolly Parton in the kitchen and Penny and I danced like fools to Jolene, singing at the top of our lungs. I told you I was branching out, apparently sticking with yellow-haired sultry songbirds for now, but I’ve got time. There has been a lot of shit over the past three years, (oh, fair warning, I swear like a fucking sailor now), but there has been a lot of joy too. Standing on the beach with a dear and kindred soul just yesterday, It struck me that I’ve been clinically depressed the whole time I have know her.

I wanted to start this story in a place that felt like hope, like possibility, because that is a place where we can all start together. I’m hoping to share more here soon, if you are interested, if it might help. Don’t misunderstand, even after these three years and this journey, I’m still not sure how today ends, but I’d love the company while we find out, together.