Last week was one of those terrible-horrible-no-good-very-bad weeks, but for no particularly extraordinary reason. You know those types of weeks where a bunch of little things go sideways, and individually they wouldn’t be any big deal, but together they’re like death by a thousand cuts? It was that. That, on top of travel/COVID anxiety, I was taking self-compassion breaks repeatedly all week, but by Friday evening when I returned home, I was completely wrung out.

I woke up early on Saturday morning — we took Alex to the airport so she could return to Chicago for her spring semester — and we got back home by about 8:30 a.m.

“I … I think I’m going to bed?” I said to Marcus. It was almost a question — because it’s not like me to want to go to bed for no physical reason — but it’s what I really wanted to do.

So I climbed under the covers … but I didn’t sleep. Instead, I read lovely words.* I consulted YouTube, learned new jewelry-making techniques, and tried them. I journaled. A lot. I wrote pages and pages not only exorcising some of the tension I was feeling, but also reaffirming the intentions that I’d made at the end of last year. I even burned some palo santo— its lovely smell is so calming.

For two days, I intentionally slowed all the way down. And by the time I sat at my desk this morning, I was finally at about 90%.

As I’m getting older, I’m getting really good at listening to my inner voice, and giving myself what I need to get centered. It’s a skill I wish I’d cultivated years ago.

Ebb and flow, my friends. Ebb and flow.

* I’m currently reading Inciting Joy by the inimitable Ross Gay, and it is a pure delight.