In 2016, I wrote an essay and entered it in a competition. I second-guessed it for weeks: it was too personal, too revealing. I would make myself vulnerable, I would be exposed. But I entered it anyway and, to my profound surprise, it won.

I wrote the essay in 2016, but I wrote it at other times, too. I wrote it when I tried to explain a panic attack to my Grade 2 teacher. I wrote it when I visited my grandfather’s grave for the first and only time. I wrote it when I understood the fear my dad felt when I told him I didn’t know how to stay alive anymore.