A Home for Stories

Yesterday, I watched the Ruth Bader Ginsburg movie, and I felt so empowered and inspired and goosebumpy with dreams of equality and justice.

Today I couldn’t get out of bed.

My coworkers are the best and they were able to step in for me at work, but the guilt is still real. Days like today often bring on lots of shame for me, enough shame to drown in– or at least to tread till I’m exhausted.

But today I just said to my body, “What do you need from me? I’m listening.”

“A hot shower, a healthy meal, a blanket and a story, Prozac and prayer,” it replied. “And a space to write about how I’m feeling.” Hence, this blog post.

How am I feeling? Stupid. Lonely. Ambitious. Tired. Creative. Eager. Upset. Grateful. Committed. Overwhelmed.

My head and shoulders hurt. My heart feels a little numb– no, not numb; it is still tender, but it feels like it has a little armor around it, a hard crust. There’s a part of me that feels grateful for the protection, but I know-know-know that armor is not actually a good thing, so I will chat it out with my therapist.

I have so many ideas that sometimes I feel like I will burst. Like they will come crawling out from under my skin. It’s uncomfortable.

But I’m grateful for it still. I want to be a home of endless stories.

I just need to let some out. I need to write.

It’s coming.

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