Even Hummingbirds Rest

A couple years ago I got my first tattoo.

A hummingbird.

I got it after leaving the church, when I was trying to figure out who I was without the identity I had built since childhood. For most of my life I had interpreted my neurodivergence as a spiritual weakness. A character flaw. Evidence that I wasn’t trying hard enough. That I was unreliable. Flaky. …