i’ve always felt admirably calm in crises. trained in first aid + cpr, i handled my own kid’s ER trips with urgency + an unruffled air, despite pooling blood or a backward arm. but how i fell apart then – both slowly depleting as i read read read plus the immediate surfeit of fear + dread – felt new. sorrowful. and its been difficult to creep back from its many edges.
i have read myself into a frenzy of “should” and “need to” and “why am i not,” and i’ve realized that it’s because i haven’t given myself any down time to process the input. a continuous diet of new fare does not result in an automatic new life; it results in discomfort, and a bit of mental crises, honestly.
the thing is, i don’t always want to do my own thing. if we went out for the day, sure. if we didn’t, if we lingered mostly indoors and worked on a project, or listened to books, then sometimes i am too bored to do my own thing.
most of me has been waiting for a return to our former life, and it’s not coming.