When It Calls For a Full Stop
It was a few weeks ago when I began to feel it.
It’s fairly cyclical in that it creeps up during the first week of true, winter weather, when the toilet seat is so cold it’s a shock to your system in the middle of the night. A streak of below 30 days with freezing rain is enough to make this Jersey girl reconsider the move to Florida like half of her family, already there.
But I hate alligators and palmetto bugs and I’m pretty sure August in Florida is just as depressing as Jersey in January, so we choose our hard, yes?
It began to feel harder and harder to get up. Showering felt like laborious work. I stopped changing out of my pajamas for school drop offs. I saw danger and illness everywhere. My resting heart rate was very much over a hundred. The tell-tale post-it notes appeared on my fridge. I started checking my bank accounts, in order of the numbers, on the hour. And then we got a puppy, and whatever I had left was blown to literal shit. And not just on my rug.
It was exceptionally inconvenient timing. New puppy, some new contracts for the new year, the girls schedules ramping up. It is not the time to have a breakdown.
But I suppose if you could plan it, they wouldn’t call it a breakdown, would they?
I couldn’t pump the breaks. And since I’ve built myself a pretty public platform, I couldn’t really hide it, either.
So here I am. I’m not in the, “look back and laugh,” stage. I’m not even really at the, “look back,” stage. I’m still very much in it, whatever it decides to show up as, on any given day. All wisdom cautions writers not to write from the broken places, but that has never been my MO. All I’ve ever wanted as a reader was someone vulnerable enough to say, “This is not over for me yet but I can still write words and make tea and walk to the front door and back,” and believe that that was enough.
So that’s what I’m doing.
Writing words, drinking tea and walking to the front door and back. I’ve taken a temporary reprive from posting on all social media ( if you’re seeing this on FB it’s because a link automatically populates there when I publish) in an attempt to heal the feeling that in addition to doing normal things like brushing my teeth and eating lunch, I must be on for everyone at all times.
I will write here- and as often as I can, which is to say that it might not be on the day you expect, because I’m just not sure how I’ll feel then. I feel good this afternoon, and thusly, this came to be. Could I schedule it to appear in your inbox on Thursday? Of course I could. But if you’re subscribing and reading this, I feel as though I owed you the truest truth.
I know this will pass- it always has.
But for now, here is where I am.
I like to imagine Padraig O’Tuoma and I in matching pajamas as he says,
“Hello to here”.
Things That Are Nourishing Me This Week
I saw a new doctor. One who listened to all of my things and made me feel like I was a normal human and not a crazy lady with a two day old mom-bun. See your doctor. If you don’t like them, find a new one. Is it easy? No. Do it anyway. Sorry to be bossy but this is kind of important.
The kitchen has been taken over by a furry fiend and thus, one of my safe places in the house has been obsconded. I am trying not to be resentful and understand that it is temporary. And yet, it feels deeply personal- this encrouchment on my space. Which is completely dumb, because I haven’t really had it in me to cook much anyway. In fact, I finally roused myself enough to make a “half-meal” for lunch today. I call something half prepared, half homemade a, “half-meal”. In this case, some Ginger-Miso broth from Trader Joes, a baby bok choy, a handful of egg noodles, some tofu and a softboiled egg was the first thing I’ve tasted in over a week that felt like I might like to cook again. Drizzle some soy sauce, sesame oil or chili oil over the top with some cilantro and a squeeze of lime if you’re feeling up to it. I wasn’t, but it was still good.
I rewatch, “Chef’s Table” on Netflix in times of crisis. I know it’s weird. Vivalidi is soothing, and so is the sizzle of a pan. The British Baking Show is a close second, followed by murder-y documentaries. I don’t know. I don’t make the rules.
My CALM app has saved my life more times than I care to admit, because of how “comerical” mindfulness apps have become. But whatever. It’s great and I love it.
Brandi Carlile and Joy Oladakun are the only voices I want in my head when my own can’t really be trusted. Their music has always been a source of healing for me.
And even though this little stinker has given me a run for my money, I do love her.
Alright my friends. I hope this finds you in a place where you are dry and warm. Where you are surrounded by people who know and love you. And if you have to eat your words, make sure they’re delicious. Order out- it’s faster that way.
Thank you for speaking the vulnerable truth. You're one of my favorite humans. 💕