I want to be productive and creative and accomplished. But some days, my biggest accomplishment is folding the clean towels AND putting them in the cupboard. Sometimes it’s eating coleslaw instead of the ice cream.
Sometimes it’s acknowledging that today is a sick day, even though I may not be throwing up.
It’s humbling. It’s frustrating. It’s embarrassing, especially in a culture where “busyness” and achievement are so highly valued.
I imagine my sisters look on me with pity for not getting more done, for not being more proficient in my domestic responsibilities.
I assume friends wonder why I’m so flakey about getting together. Why providing treats at Bible study is so overwhelming. Why sometimes I just can’t be around people, even though that seems counter-intuitive for lifting my mood.
I conclude that all of the people in my world look at me as that pathetic, mentally ill woman.
When these are the thoughts that churn in my brain, day in and day out, and I have to make such intentional effort to do the things to be well, there’s little left for much else.
Accepting that new reality is a challenge, but giving up isn’t an option. I have to just be gentle with myself, pick myself up, and keep moving forward. As taxing as that may sometimes be.
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