There is a strange, orderly peace in the “Cardboard Soldiers” that flank our rooms—box upon box, waiting for the next mission. They are protected, taped, and labeled, ready to be transported to a new home. But as I prepare for this 18th move, I find myself wishing someone would wrap me in bubble wrap and gray paper, too. I’m tired of the open tabs in my brain and the crushing weight of anxiety that no one is packing away for me. This is a reflection on the trauma of the final move, the “fragile” feeling of starting over, and the desperate, honest wish to simply be still.