I remember the first time.

When I began to know that I was different.

It was a time of frustration.

I was full of defiance.

Sitting in the colorful children’s play room at church.

I fixated on the way my hands shook.

The way they would always shake.

Seeing how still the hands of the other kids and volunteers were.

Sitting next to a verse lovingly scrawled on the wall.

Hands clenched tight against knees until the shaking was contained.

This had to be normal now.

I could make it normal.

I then looked at the soothing words on the wall.

It had to stay normal, right?