I have learned that life does not exist in the used to be.
I used to be a production assistant. Employed. Aspirational. Happy.
Who I became as a result of caring for 2 family members with mental health disorders, a disabled mother, two additional children still expecting parental attention and an untrained emotional support dog? Burned the hell out. Exacerbated, I continued to fray from of our day-to-day overwhelm. The best way I could describe it was as a swimmer, towing a family to safety by biting hold of the tethers of the raft, searching for shore. Any shore..
Sometimes we bobbed there in our ocean with blank stares, wondering how’d we continue to float. Other times I entertained sinking under. Surely if the unrelenting lactic acid didn’t consume my burning muscles, the dangers lurking meters behind would take us all. Wasn’t it better to tap out and allow those who run to the rescue (when the house is on fire) to do their jobs as opposed to continuing to sprinkle water on flames and manage?
Good girl (good person), know that even when your effort goes unacknowledged there is a reservoir in the human condition that allows you to push past the limits of what can be carried to carry even further. It is not optimal. It is not healthy. It is survival. When a unhoused person begs for your change, they rarely ask to be rescued. They ask to survive. Start there. Survive and give thanks for yourself. Give thanks for still being here.

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