On the first page of 2019 I wrote:
“Body aching.
Soul empty.
Mind tired.
January is hard. A reminder that life only ever gets harsher. Hope, a mirage.
‘Foxes have holes and birds have nests
Other men have families
A place they can call home and find their rest
But what is there for me?’
-Crownbearer”
I wrote that entry thinking I was reflecting on the past, little did I know I was foreshadowing the future.
Worn out and burned out. I limped into 2019. Oh what I would give to be that girl again. The girl in January before the diagnoses… before the accident… before the danger… before the dark. I was familiar with pain, with chaos, and with trauma (or as I call it a typical Tuesday). Difference is I had no more space. No more space for holding. No more space for processing. No more space for stuffing. At first my compassion fatigue was directed at me. Then it grew and grew so more. Eventually spreading to friends…family…and at some point the world. Its not that I don’t care. Oh do I care. But I couldn’t (I can’t).... But I will. Oh will...
Wait until April I heard. Wait until April. Over and over. So I waited. Curious. Daring. Then the world ground to halt. Earth, the actual physical ground itself slowed.
And now everyone will need help. Quarantines= Trauma. Grief. Pain. Suffering.
People will need jobs. They will need therapy, they will need care. They will need kindness. They will need to process. They will need. And I know this, so I push. I shove. I dig. I make space. Because that is who I am. My lot in life.
Oh to be that girl again.
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