I’m sort of obsessed with this right now, just because it’s so apparent to me, and it’s touching every facet of my life.
I don’t recognize myself.
It’s small things. Like, finding that I want to constantly be working on projects. Covers, editing, writing new material, shrine revamping — it’s all I can think about.
It’s small things, like being able to get out of bed and be joking around with Beth almost immediately. Or being able to articulate “I’m not a person right now, please don’t talk to me like I am,” instead of biting her head off.
It’s small things, like accidentally deleting the folder that has my ready to be uploaded file and cover, and having to reformat and remake the cover, and instead of crying and going to bed and deciding that I’m done with everything and being overwhelmed, I curse at myself, and then spend an hour fixing a mistake I made.
It’s small things, like being able to say, ” Oh, these projects I wanted to finish for ages? I did them, finally.”
I still get overwhelmed, but not as quickly, and not as deeply, and instead of berating myself for being weak and useless, I recognize that I’m overwhelmed, and that I need to rest, and then? Then, I rest. And it’s better, and soon.
It’s small things, like being able to come home from work annoyed and frustrated, and climbing into bed, and having the boys press tight against me, and not being annoyed and skin-crawly because they’re all too close, too near, too much. Instead I can fall into the boy jumble, and let the purring and the press of small bodies soothe me.
It’s small things. But it’s huge.