Big Little Things

It’s little things. The dog door breaks. There’s a trail of ants in the kitchen. I find a snakeskin in the backyard. Titus steps on my foot. I knock a bottle of wine off the counter, and it upends into the dishwasher.

Intellectually, I realize they’re little things, but my inner self still curls into a fetal position with each adverse event. I become breathless. Paralyzed. I can’t think. Tears spring to my eyes.

I know what’s going on. For the past several months, my foggy, anxious, grief-ridden state has matched perfectly with that of a populace in the throes of a global pandemic. But as we move out of quarantine, moods brighten, and optimism sparks, my emotions are no longer validated by the population at large. I look around at all the shiny, happy people and think, Well, shit.

But here’s what I’ve decided: It’s fine. I accept it. I’m not going to try to do better, fold in more coping skills, or chastise myself for not feeling hopeful and happy during what, for many, is a hopeful, happy time. My recovery process isn’t attached to the COVID timeline. It’s its own unique beast and will run its own course.

Periodically, I go back in my journals to read entries from past years, and whenever I revisit hard times, I find the written reminders: I won’t always feel this way. And I know that’s true.

For now, though, I’ll hide out in trees.

4 thoughts on “Big Little Things

  1. I hear you Kelly. There will be happier days ahead but grief and anger can twist the “little things” to add up to overwhelming. But it looks like you have a good answer for the “well shit” days … more trees! 🌳🌳🌳
    Love you and thinking of you every day.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Each of us has our own timeline for recovery from an indescribably traumatic time. I’m glad you’re being patient with yourself and letting your recovery take its own path. Don’t come out of the tree until you’re ready. xoxoxo

    Liked by 1 person

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