Work In Progress

I recently acknowledged my one year "back-to-work-iversary" after two years off after a deep dive into depression and anxiety--hospital stays--support groups, medication and therapy.  To borrow a word from Glennon Doyle Melton, it is Brutiful.   It is Beautiful.  Tender, raw and vulnerable, falling forward into blinding fear and self-love --where everyone is doing the best that they can---really.  Undone by the spectre of judgement and perfectionism no more. Brutal.  Tender, raw and vulnerable, falling backward into blinding fear and self-doubt -- where everyone is doing the best that they can? ---really?  Undone by the spectre of judgement and perfectionism! No more.... It is the flip side of the same coin and each day is a new toss. I have been favoured with more Beautiful than Brutal.   Life is Brutiful But... Brutal stalks my peripheral, winking, as I cast a furtive glance over my shoulder, my feet pounding the ground...

Today I acknowledge that I feel like lying in bed and closing my eyes. It feels like a good idea. It's quiet behind my eyes. There is nothing going on there. I like the sound of that. Today I recognize that I would like to eat all day. Cookies. Chips. Crackers. Licorice. Preferably one after the other. Today I accept that Youngest may be on his device WAY more than normal. My mind is busy sleeping and eating cookies and I can't hold his blurrrrr of video game chatter in my head. Today I can't hold much of anything. Today is too much to hold. I have these sorts of days every now and again, though they seem to come more often lately.  Maybe it is the weather; the twinkle star night velvet sky dominates the sky for too long each day.  Wind. Cold. My shoulders whisper their concern to my ears . My tongue worries my teeth and every hang nail has been harried bloody.   The ache of day long gardening lingers in my joints, my muscles---except there was no g...