Yesterday, my therapist asked me what I've been doing for self-care lately.
"...I ordered a new bed?" I said.
And - according to my therapist, anyway - that's great! The bed is essentially an oversized hospital bed - it goes up, it goes down, it vibrates at different speeds (!) - and it's a gift to myself that will theoretically have a positive and long-lasting impact on my physical and mental health. Which: Hooray.
Read all my posts about divorce here.
On Valentine's Day afternoon, I took a nap with my kitten (pictured above having mixed feelings about this choice). I sat on a patio in the valley with my friend Margo, and ate some good sushi. I Facetimed with the kids, who were spending the weekend with their dad. I asked him to handle their Valentine's Day presents, and didn't beat myself up about opting out of this particular task. I fell asleep again only a few hours after I'd awoken from my nap, then woke up at 11PM, watched some bad TV, and went back to bed. Everything I did all day long - from the breakfast I ate to the midnight show that I watched - was my choice.
At some point during the day I posted this picture to Instagram, and thought about how happy I was when it was taken. I thought about what a difference a decade makes. I thought about how happy I am now...except I'm not even sure I'd call this feeling "happiness" - it's easier to define it as the absence of sadness. I think it's the kind of feeling I've spent my entire life both searching for and running away from.
All my son wanted for Christmas was a kitten. Literally. And I know, I know: Every kid wants a kitten...but I have never in my life encountered a human being so deeply connected to cats. I told him that Santa doesn't do kittens. I told him we have enough animals. I told him Mommy is all full up on responsibility.
...But it's Christmas.
My thoughts on distance learning precisely.
About two weeks into our public school's new distance learning program - approximately on the date when the above photo was taken - I lost it.
My daughter, who's in a learning pod with a classmate and bounces between our house and theirs, seems to sort of enjoy distance learning, or at least tolerate it. Not that she's actually *learning* much - holy god, the muting and un-muting and kids with their microphones turned up to 10,000% and tl;dr teachers are superheroes and I don't know how any of them are holding onto even a tiny shred of patience or sanity - but she's basically fine. (Not that distance learning is in any way, shape or form fine for me, or for any working parent - just saying, she seems fine.)
me. 2009.
That's the general consensus on bloggers who share about their personal lives, right? We don't "owe" our readers anything? It's what I've heard countless times over the years, anyway: Whenever a reader asks me about a topic I don't feel comfortable touching - the specifics of my finances, for example, or the precise reasons behind my divorce - other readers will jump in, reminding me that what I choose to share (and not share) is...well, my choice. I don't owe anyone my story.
Except that's never how I've really felt. I do owe you. So very much. And so what I owe you, right now, is an explanation.
