In the middle of a pandemic, I have decided to resume something that once gave me so much contentment: writing. I don't really know where I am going with this don't they say to 'Just Start'? This is me - just starting. Perhaps I chose this day as my 'Just Start' because I woke up and my body was simply not co-operating. It was 13 degrees outside, my limbs felt lethargic and I simply had no inspiration for anything. I coerced motion within myself and somehow got through the day. I know this body well enough to recognize the signs of my 'lethargic episodes'. I also think I know it well enough to recognize when that lethargy wants to be left to its own devices versus when I need to shock it into motion. Today was an in-between day: I coerced myself into working and let my thoughts wander every few hours.
I have been thinking a lot about self-care recently. During one of our cooking / dish washing evening dates (that magical time of the evening when we get to catch up about the day - even if we've been in the same house all day), my partner and I were talking about self care and I joked that I am surprised that I even know how to practice it, seeing as how I was raised by a strong, black woman. Honestly, the only time I have seen my mum take a break is when she has been unwell. I, on the other hand, have been learning to listen to my body and some days it asks for rest and that's exactly what I give it. In the words of Upile Chisala,
"If you find yourself very black and very tired,
Very tired and very black.
Very woman and very black and very tired,
Rest and mean it."
What else have I been up to? Homemaking and surviving. At the beginning of this pandemic, I just focused on surviving. I had a lot of anxiety. I went through weeks of crippling anxiety and using work as an outlet a.k.a 'shock to get me into motion'. Once my partner commented on how a mutual friend was gardening on their balcony and that just triggered me! I was simply trying to get through each day and not think about my loved ones mortality. The human mind is fascinating. Somehow I adapted to holding that anxiety hand in hand with living. I am still anxious, it just no longer has me crippled. Now I can hold the fear of COVID in tension with the fear of killing my houseplants.
I have also somehow planned a wedding in the middle of chaos. About that, I always wondered how anyone could continue with life in a crisis such as war: fall in love, have babies, etc. Yet here I am! My answer to future generations: hope is the thing with feathers, and life goes on.
There! That wasn't so bad. I'll try to continue writing.
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