Sometimes I catch myself shrinking, even now. Like I'm bracing for something that isn't coming anymore. It's the phantom limb of trauma, isn't it? My body remembers a danger my mind knows is gone, and it flinches anyway. The work is teaching my body it's truly safe now, one tiny, calm breath at a time. I still apologize too much. It’s automatic, a reflex honed by years of walking on eggshells. The silence that follows when I DON'T apologize is deafening, though, and that's where I'm learning to live.