Today I was having a conversation with a fairly new colleague about what we needed to accomplish this weekend (oh, yes, we're in rough shape) in order to finish our very big, nearly overdue project. And as we're going along, sharing our schedules and availability, I said: "My biggest window tomorrow will be during my daughter's playdate in the afternoon. I'm a single mom so I'm limited during our weekends together. Luckily, her dad can take her Sunday." I didn't choke it out. My stomach didn't contort. I didn't feel sorry for myself or even really feel much of anything. No, I said these words as any other fact of my life, like I have brown hair or I can't wait to do my yoga video in the morning. Like they were No. Big. Deal. Who knows, maybe tomorrow I'll be back on the other side, but somehow in the last few days, after such a particularly painful few weeks, something has shifted. And shifted solidly. I'm going to be bold and call it progress.