My movement is not causing me joy right now. Few things are. I do not feel qualified to educate people on how to get through this in a time when no one has been through anything like this.
The work I do now is 100% my choice.
Be gentle with yourself in the way they couldn’t be.
That’s the thing about learning to love yourself. There is no timeline.
If I could freeze frame what happiness looks and feels like, it would be March 17, 2014.
I don’t feel guilty that I spend my Saturdays getting massages and brunch, while my homeowner friends tend to the lawn. Ask a homeowner what they did with their weekend, and I would bet 9 times out of 10, it will have something to do with yard work.
Once, I was so drunk that I fell down while my shorts were around my ankles and peed myself. There. I said it.
This year was fucking tough. I can’t tell you that it’s going to be “better” next year. But God damn, I’m game to find out.
I genuinely enjoy the art of grocery shopping. The weaving in and out of the aisles and gently caressing each tomato before it makes its way into my basket.
I really do love him. Or I love beer.