Journal, February 21: Discomfort Season

today i’m sitting in the discomfort of seasonal shift + mourning. you know, the part where you know what you want to do but aren’t fully able to live it out yet, to frame your days, your weeks, with the things that are actually important? i am there.

winter feels long, lonely. we’re holed up with ipads and virtual games, and rather than the shared joy of books i’d envisioned, based on years past, my kids choose to hide in their rooms, mostly separately, and play online, often with friends. usually, after a winter of occasional hikes + nature play, we emerge restless, ready to attack a newly-thawed world. but despite the weather being largely welcoming lately, nobody wants to join me out here.

i am lonely. in trying to embrace my worthiness of rest, i’m finding myself stripped of employ – cleaning, yes, and good riddance. but what else am i to do? my normal process is to clean and then feel resentful that nobody’s helping tho i find the time to clean while everyone’s busy as a way to subvert my own boredom. i stayed home for this? i’d think several times a week, actively resenting my kids for their ability to sink fully into play. now i am ignoring the dishes like everyone else. (til after dinner.)

to be fair, i found another job to fill a few hours of time. i’ve begun the process of starting a magazine, something i’ve dreamed of for years. i have plenty of hobbies that i dip into: plants + their care, macrame, piano, reading, loads of kitchen experiments/recipes, + writing this blog. it’s the resentment that bothers me.

most of me has been waiting for a return to our former life, and it’s not coming.

that’s the reality that i’m allowing to sink in this season of change and new growth. i need some growth for myself, something else that can replace the former connection we all had. how can i shift my resentment, slowly becoming sadness, into an agreeable outcome? after i mourn the homeschool life i thought we’d have now, one more similar to past, pre-covid years, what does my day-to-day look like?

i do not know. breathing through that lump of despair is hard. my mourning looks like mini tantrums around screen time + nobody helping around the house, then a round of apologies. it looks like long walks alone. sometimes there are tears.

at least i’m clear now that i am grieving the life that retired without my consent. nobody planned pandemic. but it definitely reshaped us all. after these long years of introspection + anxiety, i’m finding this extra hump of change more difficult. i’ve never been good at sitting with discomfort long. here i am, restless but breathing.

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