I woke up with a migraine, vaguely aware of the too large glass of wine I had last night, of the stressful volunteer meeting that reminded me how much I'm not doing, that triggered every fear of inadequacy, of disappointing people, that I had been to before consuming it. I'd snoozed my alarm twice so it was time to wake up the kids for school without time for coffee first.
BG didn't want pants. LS didn't want shoes. We made it out the door.
And then I collapsed on the couch. Numbed out with my phone. And gave my brain just enough space to tell me how worthless I am.
Shit.
Rumination. It's not just for cows anymore.
I have been looking forward to having time to myself for so long and now it's hard to admit that it's hard for me. That I don't know what to do. That the enormity of the time available can sometimes be overwhelming. That I wish I was a little busier. That I avoid things because I don't wanna and not because I don't have time.
It was quite a spiral, friends.
My head is better now, 14 hours, 3 meals, two doses of ibuprofen and 3 cups of coffee later. Somehow the world doesn't look as scary and ragey now, but what that leaves me with is sad. Raw. Confused. Lost. I don't like feeling this way.
But here it is and it's real.
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