The old backpack had seen better days. Its faded blue fabric was frayed along the edges, and the zipper stuck unless tugged just right. Still, Max slung it over his shoulders every morning as if it were a shield. Inside, he carried the essentials: a sketchbook, two pencils worn down to nubs, and a pocket-sized compass that used to belong to his grandfather.
Today, however, the backpack felt heavier. Not because of its contents, but because of what Max was about to do. His class had been assigned to share something meaningful, and he knew everyone expected sports trophies or favorite books. Instead, Max planned to unzip his backpack and reveal the compass.
When his turn came, he set the pack gently on the desk. The room quieted as he pulled out the small brass circle, holding it carefully in both hands. He explained how his grandfather used it on long hikes, teaching him that no matter how lost you felt, there was always a way forward if you looked carefully enough.
The class listened, still and thoughtful. For once, Max didn’t feel invisible. The backpack, shabby as it was, had carried not just his supplies, but his courage.
Therapy Bits 
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