I miss that ghost of who I was, curled up on a couch with a book for hours, but this messy present version, the one with the permanent ache in my arms from carrying small humans, feels more real, more ME. I used to think that shedding was just losing, like I wrote about, but it’s becoming clear that it was just… making space. The minivan still smells like goldfish, yeah, but the air around my ribs isn't quite so tight anymore when I smell it, just a flicker, then it passes.