Disenfranchised grief (grief that isn't socially recognized or validated) is one of the most isolating experiences there is. It's the grief that says, I don't know if I'm allowed to be this sad. It's the grief that apologizes for itself. It keeps people from accessing the support they need, from telling the story of who they lost, from being witnessed in their loss.

Crazy is one of those words. Slippery. Charged. Weaponized in one sentence and celebratory in the next. It’s a linguistic shapeshifter—used as both dagger and dance party invite, depending entirely on tone, context, and the speaker’s intent. But here’s the plot twist: you get to choose which version you pick up and run with. And me? I’ve chosen to strap it on like a banner, brightly colored and flapping in the wind behind me as I ride into battle on the warhorse of personal power.