Once I was settled in the psychiatric unit, they told me I could make phone calls from the common area phone, and I forced myself to call my sister first because I owed her an apology.
When she answered, I could barely get the words out, but I managed to tell her I was sorry for scaring her and putting her son at risk.
She was trying to be supportive, but I could hear the fear and the not knowing what to say in her voice when she told me she was just glad I got help before anything happened.
I promised her I wouldn't ask to see the baby again until the doctors said it was safe, and she sounded relieved when she agreed that was the right plan for now.
We hung up and I felt like I might throw up from shame.
An hour later, my sister called back, and I could tell from her voice that something else was wrong. She explained that because I told them about the command hallucinations about hurting a child, the hospital was required to report it to Child Protective Services.
I felt a wave of shame and panic crash over me, but she quickly added that the social worker told her this was standard procedure and that my choice to get help would actually work in everyone's favor.
I agreed to cooperate fully with whatever CPS needed to do, understanding that I'd put my nephew at risk even though I didn't actually hurt him.
After we hung up, I sat in the common area staring at nothing for a while.
I forced myself to call my workplace next and speak to my manager, explaining in really vague terms that I was in the hospital dealing with a mental health crisis and wouldn't be in for at least a week.
She sounded concerned and told me to focus on getting better. And she mentioned that HR would probably reach out about medical leave paperwork.
When I hung up, I felt this weird mix of relief that I still had a job and worry about what my coworkers would think when they found out where I was.
That evening, Dr. Ahmad sat with me for a longer session and provided what he called psychoeducation about command hallucinations and psychotic symptoms.
He explained that commands to harm others were actually a known symptom that many people experience without ever acting on them, and that the brain can make up really convincing false things during certain types of mental illness.
Hearing him describe my experiences as medical symptoms that can be treated instead of moral failures or proof I was a terrible person gave me the first real bit of hope I'd felt in days.
He used simple words and drew diagrams showing how the brain can misfire and create perceptions that feel completely real but aren't based on anything external.
The next morning, I attended my first group therapy session, feeling awkward and exposed as I sat in a circle with seven other patients. When it was my turn to share, I mentioned the command voices, and two other people nodded like they knew exactly what I was talking about.
One woman described her own experience with voices telling her to hurt her sister and how she'd learned to recognize them as symptoms and use coping skills instead of listening.
Hearing that someone else went through this and didn't act on it made me feel less like a monster and more like someone with an illness that can be managed.
During an individual session with Dr. Ahmad later, we started mapping out patterns in when my symptoms got worse, and I realized that the visual distortions always seemed to spike when I was under fluorescent lights or hadn't slept well.
He wrote this down in his notes and explained that environmental triggers and lack of sleep could definitely make psychotic symptoms worse. We created a list of my specific triggers so far, including bright lights, stress, and being alone for too long. And he suggested we'd work on managing these factors as part of my treatment plan.
An occupational therapist visited in the afternoon and introduced himself as Jonas. He taught me practical grounding techniques that were more concrete than anything I'd tried before. He had me practice holding ice cubes until my hands hurt from the cold, doing paced breathing with a visual timer, and using a technique called 5-4-3-2-1 where I name things I can see, touch, hear, smell, and taste.
These felt almost too simple to work, but when I practiced them during a moment when I saw faint colored lights around another patient, the lights actually faded faster than usual.
That afternoon, a CPS investigator came to the hospital to interview me as part of their assessment. She introduced herself as Inez Flores, and she was professional but not mean as she asked detailed questions about what happened in the nursery, my relationship with my sister and nephew, and what steps I was taking now.
I was completely honest about the command hallucinations and my decision to ask for help. And she made notes while explaining that she'd also need to interview my sister and check out the home environment before making any recommendations.
When she left, I felt drained but also like maybe I did the right thing by being truthful about everything.
Back in my room that evening, I started writing in a notebook the hospital provided, creating a timeline of all the times I thought I was reading auras correctly. I listed Isidora's anxiety at the top of the first page, then my boss's migraine, then my girlfriend's pregnancy, trying to examine each incident objectively to figure out if I actually predicted anything or just noticed obvious signs and convinced myself I had special abilities.
For Isidora, I wrote down that she was already stumbling through her presentation before I saw any yellow glow, and that her body language was showing clear nervousness that anyone could have picked up on.
For my boss, I noted that he did leave early, but only after I suggested he looked unwell, which might have planted the idea in his head.
For my girlfriend, I admitted that she'd been talking about wanting kids for months before I saw the golden light. So maybe I just saw what I expected to see.
The exercise was uncomfortable because it meant admitting I might have caused harm based on completely false perceptions. But I remember what Dr. Ahmad said about examining these beliefs being important for my recovery.
I filled three pages with incidents, questioning each one, trying to separate what actually happened from what the voices told me was happening.
By the time I finished, my hand was cramping and I felt exhausted, but also strangely lighter. Like writing it all down helped me see how much of it was just my brain making connections that weren't really there.
The new medication was helping with the voices and visual distortions, but it was also making me incredibly restless and unable to sit still for more than a few minutes. I tried to read a magazine from the common area, but I couldn't focus on the words because my legs felt like they needed to move constantly.
I paced around my small room, then walked the hallway, then came back and tried sitting on my bed. But within seconds I was up again, feeling like I wanted to crawl out of my own skin.
When the night nurse came by for evening checks, I mentioned the restlessness, and she asked me specific questions about when it started and how severe it felt. She noted everything in my chart and said she'd make sure Dr. Ahmad knew in the morning so he could adjust my medication if needed.
I spent half the night pacing my room, walking from the door to the window and back again, counting my steps to try to distract myself from the uncomfortable buzzing energy in my muscles. The hallway lights were dimmed for nighttime, and I could hear other patients sleeping or talking quietly in their rooms, and I felt guilty that I was the only one still moving around making noise.
Around 3:00 in the morning, I finally wore myself out enough to lie down. But even then my legs kept twitching, and I only slept in short bursts between the constant need to move.
This physical discomfort was almost worse than the hallucinations in a different way, because at least with the voices I could try to ignore them or use grounding techniques. But this restlessness was in my actual body, and there was no way to make it stop.
My mother called the next morning, and I could hear that she'd been crying as she told me she loved me and asked what she could do to help. Her voice sounded shaky, and I felt a wave of guilt knowing I'd put her through this fear and stress.
I tried to reassure her that I was getting good treatment and that the doctors thought my prognosis was positive, carefully avoiding any mention of the auras or my previous belief that she was dying from my infection.
She asked a lot of questions about what the hospital was like and when I might be coming home, and I answered as honestly as I could while keeping the scary details vague.
She wanted to visit, but I asked her to wait a few more days until I was feeling more stable, explaining that I was still adjusting to the medication and dealing with some side effects. She sounded disappointed but agreed. Then made me promise to call her every day so she knew I was okay.
I promised. And we talked for a few more minutes about normal things like what she'd been cooking and how the neighbors were doing. And having a regular conversation about everyday stuff actually helped me feel more grounded and less like I was completely broken.
After we hung up, I sat on my bed feeling emotionally drained but also grateful that my mother was being so supportive despite everything I'd put the family through.
Dr. Ahmad came by later that morning and introduced me to a cognitive technique he called reality testing, where I write down my predictions or perceptions and then track what actually happens versus what I believed would happen.
He sat down with me at the small table in my room and pulled out a worksheet with columns labeled across the top. The first column said "Perceived Aura." The second said "What I Thought It Meant." The third said "What I Predicted Would Occur." And the fourth said "What Actually Occurred."
He explained that the goal was to help me see the pattern of my brain generating false connections and convincing explanations for random or misinterpreted events. He walked me through an example using a hypothetical situation, showing me how I would fill in each column and then compare my prediction to reality.
The worksheet felt almost too simple, like something you'd give a kid in school. But I understood the logic behind it, and I could see how it might help me catch myself when I start believing the false perceptions again.
Dr. Ahmad left me with a stack of blank worksheets and told me to use them whenever I noticed myself making predictions or seeing patterns, and to bring the completed ones to our next session so we could review them together.
I spent the afternoon working on the reality testing worksheet, starting with the incidents I remembered most clearly.
For the neighbor with the pink aura and black veins, I wrote down that I predicted death in two weeks, and she had a heart attack fourteen days later. But then in the "What Actually Occurred" column, I added that I never actually spoke to her or knew anything about her health history. So I had no idea if she had known heart problems or warning signs I wasn't aware of. Maybe she'd been having chest pains for weeks and was already at high risk. Or maybe she'd just had her annual checkup and gotten bad news from her doctor.
I realized that the timing matching up didn't prove I predicted anything. It just proved that heart attacks happen. And sometimes the timing is a coincidence.
For the barista's car accident, I noted that I predicted it a month in advance but never tried to warn her or prevent it, which seemed significant now that I was examining my own behavior. Honestly, if I really believed she was in danger, why didn't I say something to her? Why did I just watch and wait for it to happen so I could feel validated when it did?
But there were others I'd almost forgotten about. The stranger at the coffee shop whose laptop crashed. The coworker whose apartment was nearly broken into. And there was something else—something from the very beginning I'd dismissed entirely. A homeless man I'd passed on the street three months before Isidora, before any of this started. I'd felt a strange warmth looking at him, seen what might have been a flicker of copper light, and thought distinctly: He'll find what he lost. I'd shaken it off as a random intrusive thought. But two weeks ago, scrolling through local news, I'd seen his face—he'd been reunited with his daughter after twelve years.
I stared at that entry for a long time before closing the notebook. Dr. Ahmad said I was learning to separate delusion from reality. But how did you categorize something when you weren't even sure you remembered it correctly? I decided not to mention it. It was probably just false memory, my brain rewriting history to make me feel special again.
Writing this down made me feel sick to my stomach because it showed me how much I was using other people's misfortunes to feed my delusion instead of actually caring about their safety.
I filled out three more worksheets for other incidents, and each one showed me how I was either noticing obvious things everyone else could see, or making predictions so vague they could apply to almost anything, or taking credit for coincidences that had nothing to do with me.
Inez came back that afternoon to interview me again, this time with more specific questions about my support system and what safety measures I thought would be necessary before I could be around my nephew again.
She sat across from me in one of the private meeting rooms and had her notebook open, writing down everything I said.
I told her honestly that I thought I needed to prove medication compliance by taking my pills every day and having my blood levels checked regularly to make sure the drugs were working. I explained that I should attend outpatient therapy at least weekly, maybe more often at first, and keep all my psychiatry appointments without missing any.
I mentioned that I probably needed to have another adult present for any contact with the baby for the foreseeable future, maybe even for months or longer, because I didn't trust myself alone with him yet, and I didn't think my family should have to trust me either until I'd proven I was stable.
Inez seemed to appreciate my insight into my own limitations and wrote down my suggestions as part of her assessment notes. She asked about my relationship with my sister and whether I thought our family could handle the stress of this situation.
And I explained that we'd always been close, but I understood that I'd damaged that trust and it was going to take time to rebuild.
She nodded and made more notes, then asked about my work situation and whether I had health insurance and a stable living situation, and I answered all her questions as completely as I could.
Later that day, Inez interviewed my sister at her home, and my sister texted me afterward to say it went okay and that she explained our family dynamics and her concerns about safety.
The text was longer than usual, and I could tell my sister was trying to be supportive while also being honest about her fears. She mentioned that she told Inez about my history of being reliable and caring before this crisis, which she hoped would help with the assessment, but also that she was honest about needing clear boundaries and professional guidance before allowing me around her son again.
She wrote that Inez asked good questions and seemed fair, and that she felt heard during the interview.
I texted back thanking her for being honest and telling her I completely understood and supported whatever boundaries she needs to set. I added that I was grateful she was willing to consider any contact at all after what happened, and that I'd do whatever it takes to prove I'm safe and stable.
She responded with a heart emoji and told me to focus on getting better. And I felt a small bit of hope that maybe our relationship wasn't completely destroyed.
My HR manager, Pari Stewart, emailed me through the hospital's patient portal asking for medical documentation and information about my expected timeline for return to work. The email was professional and carefully worded, mentioning that the company offered short-term disability and FMLA leave for medical situations.
She suggested we set up a call once I was discharged to discuss accommodations and transition plans.
The email didn't ask for details about my diagnosis, which I appreciated, though I was anxious about whether I'd still have a job once they understood the severity of what I was dealing with. I knew that mental illness was supposed to be protected under disability laws, but I also knew that plenty of people lose their jobs anyway when they have psychiatric hospitalizations.
I wrote back a brief response saying I'd have documentation ready and I'd reach out once I had a discharge date, keeping it vague and professional.
After I sent the email, I sat staring at my phone, feeling worried about money and rent and what happens if I can't work for a while.
Dr. Ahmad came by that evening and told me he wanted to adjust my medication to address the restlessness side effect. He explained that what I was experiencing was called akathisia, and it was a known side effect of the antipsychotic I was on.
He added a different drug that should help with the restlessness and slightly lowered the dose of the antipsychotic, explaining that we were trying to find the right balance where my symptoms were controlled but the side effects were manageable.
That night, I actually slept for six solid hours, which was the longest stretch I'd had in weeks.
When I woke up the next morning, I noticed immediately that the constant buzzing energy in my muscles was mostly gone, and I could sit still without feeling like I needed to jump out of my skin.
The voices were noticeably quieter too. More like distant whispers than clear commands, and I had to strain to hear what they were saying.
The colored lights I'd been seeing around people were also less intense, though they hadn't disappeared completely yet. When the morning nurse came in to take my vitals, I could see a faint pinkish glow around her, but it was much dimmer than before, and I could easily ignore it.
I felt cautiously hopeful that the medication adjustments were working and that maybe I was actually going to be able to function normally again.
I tried calling my girlfriend to explain what's been happening, but the conversation was awkward and painful from the very first moment. She answered, but her voice sounded distant and careful, like she was talking to a stranger instead of someone she'd been dating for two years.
I tried to explain about the hospitalization and the diagnosis and the medication. But I could hear her getting quieter and more withdrawn as I talked.
When I finally stopped talking, there was a long silence before she admitted she needed some space to process everything.
She said she cared about me, but she was scared and didn't know how to support someone going through this. She mentioned that her aunt had schizophrenia and it was really hard on the whole family, and she wasn't sure she could handle being in a relationship with someone who has this kind of mental illness.
I felt my chest tighten as she talked, knowing where this conversation was heading but hoping I was wrong.
She said she needed time to figure out if she could handle this, if she was strong enough to be with someone who might have episodes or need hospitalization again.
We agreed to take a break while I focused on treatment, and I could hear that she was crying a little when we said goodbye.
After we hung up, I sat on my bed feeling crushingly alone despite being surrounded by hospital staff and other patients in nearby rooms. I understood why she needed space, and I didn't blame her for being scared, but it still hurt knowing that my illness had cost me this relationship on top of everything else it had taken from me.
The next morning, I had my individual therapy session scheduled with Dr. Ahmad, and I walked down the hallway to his office feeling nervous about what we were going to talk about. He sat across from me with my chart open and asked me to walk him through those early moments when I thought I was reading auras correctly, starting with Isidora and the yellow glow during her presentation.
I described how I saw the pale yellow light and heard the voice say she was terrified, and how when I asked her about it afterward she broke down crying about her anxiety.
Dr. Ahmad nodded and asked me to think about what I actually observed before I saw the yellow glow. And I realized now that Isidora had been stumbling over her words. Her hands were shaking, and she kept looking down at her notes instead of at the audience.
He pointed out that I might have picked up on obvious body language signals that anyone could have noticed. And when I told her I sensed she was scared, I basically gave her permission to confirm what I'd guessed based on normal observation. The yellow glow and the voice came after I'd already noticed her anxiety, not before, which means I was interpreting coincidence as prediction.
We went through my boss and the purple migraine light next. And Dr. Ahmad asked if my boss had shown any signs of not feeling well that morning.
I remembered now that he'd been rubbing his temples during the meeting and had mentioned the bright fluorescent lights bothering him, which are pretty clear signs someone might be getting a headache. When I suggested he take the day off, I might have planted the idea in his head, and then when he did develop a headache later, he remembered my suggestion and it seemed like I'd predicted it.
Dr. Ahmad called this a self-fulfilling prophecy, where my suggestion actually created the outcome I thought I was predicting.
The conversation made me feel stupid for believing in the auras for so long, but also relieved because it meant I wasn't actually psychic and then lost some special ability. I was just misreading normal human behavior and convincing myself I had powers that never existed in the first place.
After the therapy session, I went back to my room and pulled out the notebook the hospital gave me, deciding to start tracking my symptoms more carefully like Dr. Ahmad suggested. I wrote down every time I noticed visual distortions or heard whispers, and I also noted what I was doing right before it happened.
Over the next few days, I started seeing a clear pattern that I hadn't noticed before. The colored lights and voices got worse about an hour after I drank coffee from the hospital cafeteria, and they also spiked when I skipped meals or went too long without eating.
I showed Dr. Ahmad my tracking notes during our next session, and he confirmed that caffeine is a stimulant that can make psychiatric symptoms worse, and that blood sugar crashes from skipping meals can also trigger hallucinations and paranoia.
We added basic self-care rules to my treatment plan, including eating three regular meals a day, limiting myself to one small coffee in the morning, and keeping snacks in my room for between meals.
These felt like such simple practical things that I was almost embarrassed I didn't figure them out myself, but Dr. Ahmad said, "Most people don't realize how much basic physical health affects mental symptoms."
Having concrete things I could control made me feel less powerless, like I wasn't just waiting for medication to fix me but actually participating in my own recovery.
A few days later, Dr. Ahmad brought a printed form to our session and explained that he wanted me to sign a formal safety contract. The document said I agreed not to harm myself or others and that I'd ask for help immediately if I had thoughts or commands about violence.
I read through it carefully and saw that it listed specific phone numbers I was supposed to call if I was in crisis, including the mobile crisis line, Dr. Ahmad's office emergency number, and 911 if I was in immediate danger.
He explained that this was partly a legal protection for the hospital, making sure there was documentation that I understood my responsibilities. But he also said that writing down my commitment could make it feel more real and binding for me personally.
I signed the contract, understanding that it wasn't just a piece of paper but an actual promise I was making to myself and to the people who cared about me. Putting my signature on the line made the whole thing feel more serious and permanent, like I was officially choosing to fight against the voices instead of listening to them.
Dr. Ahmad kept the original in my chart and gave me a copy to keep in my room, and I folded it up and put it in my notebook so I could look at it if I was struggling.
Later that afternoon, I was sitting in the common area watching TV with a few other patients, trying to relax after all the intense therapy sessions. A commercial came on with bright flashing colors advertising some kind of cleaning product, and suddenly I saw faint colored glows appearing around the other patients sitting near me.
My heart started pounding, and I felt panic rising in my chest because I thought the visual distortions were getting better, not coming back.
But then I remembered the grounding technique Jonas taught me. And instead of focusing on the colors or trying to figure out what they meant, I pressed my feet firmly against the floor and started naming five things I could see in the room.
I saw the TV screen, the coffee table, a plant in the corner, the clock on the wall, and the exit sign above the door.
By the time I finished naming all five things, the colored glows had faded back to normal, and I could see the other patients clearly without any distortions. The whole episode only lasted a minute or two, and I managed it myself without needing to call a nurse or leave the room.
I felt a small burst of pride that I actually used the coping skill and it worked, proving that I can handle symptoms when they pop up instead of just panicking and letting them spiral out of control.
That evening, I asked Dr. Ahmad if we could set up a family meeting with my sister and mother before I got discharged because I wanted to apologize to them properly and hear their concerns directly instead of just over the phone.
He thought about it for a minute and then agreed that it could be helpful for everyone, saying he'd facilitate the meeting to make sure it stayed productive and didn't turn into anyone attacking anyone else.
Knowing this conversation was coming filled me with fear because I had to face the people I scared the most and admit what I almost did. But I also knew I needed to do this if I wanted any chance of rebuilding trust with my family.
Dr. Ahmad scheduled the meeting for a few days out to give everyone time to prepare. And he said he'd call my sister and mother to explain the format and make sure they were comfortable participating.
I spent the next couple days feeling nervous about what they were going to say and whether my sister would ever be able to forgive me for putting her son at risk.
A couple days later, my phone buzzed with a text from my sister saying that Inez came by her house that afternoon to do a home visit and safety check. She wrote that Inez looked at the locks on all the doors, checked out the baby monitor system they have set up, and reviewed the list of trusted adults who could provide supervision if my sister ever needed emergency childcare and I wasn't an option.
My sister said Inez seemed satisfied with everything and mentioned that as long as I kept going to treatment and following the safety plan, she'd probably recommend closing the CPS case after the monitoring period was done.
My sister sounded cautiously hopeful in her text, saying she thought we might actually get through this without permanent damage to our family relationships.
Reading her words made me feel a tiny bit of hope that I hadn't completely destroyed everything, even though I knew it was going to take a long time to rebuild the trust I broke.
That evening, my mother called, and I could hear in her voice that she was trying to sound casual as she mentioned she had a cardiology appointment scheduled for next week.
My stomach dropped, and I felt a jolt of fear, remembering the voices claiming I saw black veins in her pink aura, telling me she was dying because of my infection.
But instead of letting myself spiral into panic, I forced myself to ask practical questions about her symptoms and when they started.
She explained that she'd been having occasional heart palpitations for a few years now, and her regular doctor just wanted to run some routine tests to make sure everything was okay. She sounded calm and matter-of-fact about it, not scared or worried. And she mentioned that her doctor thinks it's probably just age-related stuff that can be managed with medication if needed.
I practiced the reality testing skill Dr. Ahmad taught me, recognizing that her appointment was normal preventive care that has nothing to do with any imaginary infection I thought I was spreading.
The rational explanation helped quiet the whisper of doubt trying to start up in the back of my mind, and I was able to have a normal conversation with her about her health without freaking out.
In my next therapy session with Dr. Ahmad, he asked me to talk about the specific moment in the nursery when I almost acted on the command hallucinations, and just thinking about it made my hands start shaking.
I described standing over my nephew's crib, seeing the pure white light radiating from him, and hearing all the voices rise together insisting that taking his breath was the only way to cure the infection and save my mother. I explained how my hands were hovering above his face and I was so close to pressing down, believing completely that it was the right thing to do because the voices sounded so convinced and logical.
Dr. Ahmad asked me what made me stop, and I had to think hard about that moment because it happened so fast.
I told him that some tiny part of me recognized that what the voices were saying was wrong, even though they sounded so sure, and that part of me was strong enough to make me pull back and call for help instead.
We spent time reframing the white light as my brain generating a scary intrusive image during extreme stress, not as something real that I was actually seeing. Dr. Ahmad emphasized over and over that my decision to pull back and ask for help was the critical turning point that kept anyone from getting hurt, and that even in the middle of a serious psychiatric crisis, I was able to access some part of my judgment that knew not to act on the commands.
Talking through it was one of the hardest things I'd done. But by the end of the session, I felt like I understood better what happened and why, even if I still felt ashamed and scared about how close I came.
That night, I took my medication at the regular time and got into bed. And for the second night in a row, I slept for six solid hours without waking up once.
When I opened my eyes in the morning, the usual anxiety and confusion I'd been feeling for weeks was noticeably quieter, like someone turned down the volume in my head.
The voices were still there, but they were reduced to occasional whispers that I could easily identify as symptoms rather than real information I needed to pay attention to.
When the morning nurse came in to take my vitals, I noticed a very faint pinkish glow around her, but it was so dim I could barely see it. Nothing like the bright neon colors that used to overwhelm me constantly.
I was starting to feel like maybe my brain actually could function normally again with the right medication and support, and that I might be able to have a regular life instead of being trapped in hallucinations forever.
The family meeting happened two days later in a private room on the unit, with Dr. Ahmad sitting off to the side ready to step in if things got too heated. My sister and mother arrived together, and we all sat down in a circle of chairs, and I could see my sister had been crying even before we started.
Dr. Ahmad explained that this was a chance for everyone to share their feelings honestly and work on rebuilding trust. And then he looked at me to begin.
I apologized to both of them for scaring them and putting my nephew at risk. And I tried to explain what was happening in my head without making excuses for my behavior.
My sister started crying harder and told me she was angry and hurt that I didn't tell her sooner that something was wrong. But she's also grateful that I asked for help when I did instead of actually hurting her baby.
We talked honestly about what boundaries need to exist going forward. And my sister was clear that she couldn't have me around her son unsupervised until doctors confirmed I was stable and not a risk.
My mother sat quietly crying and holding my hand, telling me she loved me. But she was also scared of what might have happened.
By the end of the meeting, my sister said that once I was stable and following my outpatient treatment plan consistently, we could try brief supervised visits where another adult is always present, and eventually work up to more contact if everything goes well.
Hearing her say she was willing to rebuild trust eventually made me break down crying with relief because I was so afraid she'd never let me be part of my nephew's life again.
Dr. Ahmad wrapped up the meeting by summarizing the agreements we made and reminding everyone that recovery takes time and patience, but that we're all moving in the right direction by having this honest conversation.