Cloudy

 

Originally February 12, 2025


Wintry suburban numbness coupled with a bad case of the 40's.

Stagnant, between worries for your children and worries for your parents.

Holding space for what ails us.

Dis-eases of the mind, body, and spirit.

In the midst, bills here and there, closing in, making the air more difficult to inhale.

Pandemic, baby, move, inflation, disorientation.

Grieve.

You listen closely to catch human words that resonate with you.

My small talk with coworkers is to say that each day is a blur, I wake up and suddenly it's time for bed.

She is filled with relief at the quick passing of time.

He wakes up wanting it to be bedtime.

We're all 40.

So we smile. We keep our heads up. We keep trying.

Whatever that means.

And nothing feels like enough.

Not moments that are picturesque to the masses, like dogs running around a yard while the kids jump in the trampoline, not the human connection that makes you sad because it's about the end and makes you longingly crave the next time that you can feel that way again.

Not laughter. It's too short.

Not church. And yet I burst into tears every time the choir sings.

But can you call it depression if perimenopause and PMS and grief and aging and career peaks and parenting all share similar symptoms?

I know, I know. Be in the moment. Embrace it. That's what you said this blog would be about.

I'm sorry.

I'm just feeling cloudy today.


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