Too busy catching up with the tide. Mastering my survival mode skills. Keeping up with the price of things, with the changes. Excelling at avoiding exposure to news. Honing my single parenting skills. Singlehandendly dealing with everything that has to do with our living, surviving and thriving. Dealing with, facing and processing emotions, feelings, and thoughts. Healing from traumas, and I don't say healing lightly, nor trauma, not a little, not at all.
I've been busy healing our feminine, empowering our masculine, doing work and study and art, doing us and relationships and connections. Doing floors and windows and chores and errands and cooking and making and eating. So much of it, very little nurturing.
I've been so busy that I've denied myself seeing, so busy and caught up with the living that I ignored my me under that skin. It's stretched a hundred times and I still use the fat to cope with this so called living.
Daughter left to school a while ago. First time since ever. I am home alone, I can't feel my body from all the pains, aches from yesterday's walk, tummy still upset since the visit to the supermarket, low and dizzying energy everywhere I go, whomever I encounter. Extremely fiery energy inside caused by an adolescent who hasn't been living normally in the society for nearly two years. To say I'm tired, would be an understatement.
I keep running in every direction. Because of I don't, who would, and isn't life made for the living? The doing? The being?
I don't know how to sit still anymore. There are pains beyond pains, and I need nurturing.
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