There’s something incredibly powerful about watching someone you admire fall apart—and get back up.

It’s not the falling that captures our attention. It’s the rising. The rebuilding. The slow and sacred act of learning how to live again without numbing, hiding, or pretending.

I remember the first time I read it. I stopped mid-sentence and felt something deep in my chest loosen like a knot untangling. It named something I had always felt but hadn’t quite put into words.