Sometimes I forget the specific flavor of that low-grade hum of anxiety that used to be my constant companion... and then a wave of empathy just washes over me for past me. I can almost romanticize the "old days" of constant stress, forgetting how utterly exhausting it was to just exist. It's a dangerous nostalgia, because I'm not built for that level of overdrive anymore. There's a strange grief in realizing how much energy I spent just surviving. It's like looking back at a beautiful, intricate sandcastle I built, only to realize it was holding back a Tsunami that I didn't even know was there. And I was so proud of that sandcastle.