Prickly Cactus Skin

People are always so impressed with the guys that can get in a metal cube that’s padlocked shut and completely tied upside that gets dropped into a tank of water and can break out just before the run out of air..


What about the moms that can navigate out of a minefield like this to get some housework done that so desperately needs completed?


I still snuck in a twenty minute nap before sneaking out to do all the things. By that I mean giving the big hens fresh straw, feeding and watering them, giving fresh straw to the babies in the basement, doing laundry, dishes, and picking up the house.


Brett’s been gone since Tuesday and won’t be home until tomorrow evening when we roll in late from Averi’s softball tournaments. Her games start at 9 in the morning and the last one is at 5. 🙃 He’ll make it before the third game starts, but it’s better than not making any at all.


We’re enjoying a wonderful afternoon/evening at Auntie Kait’s house to have a movie night and watch the new Cruella. Can you say stoked?

This is the first time Brett has been gone for so many days in a row since, maybe ever. I actually kind of miss him. Shh. It’s our secret, in case he doesn’t read this one.

We had a bit of a large snowball of things that started a couple days ago, and one thing after another kept happening. I felt anxious, overwhelmed, panicky, sick, scared, and very much like I was going to implode. Even writing about it starts to make a few things surface, but working through it is what will not only help me, but someone else out there, too.

My angry side came out to play, and I’m trying not to keep beating myself up over it. It happened, it’s over, I apologized to all involved, and now I have to do better.

The big thing about it, though, is that this time I felt more aware of what was happening. My skin felt strange, like I was wearing someone else’s. I’ve described this angry side of myself as pokey and cactus-y, and that’s exactly what my skin felt like. Prickly, pokey, uncomfortable, and painful. It felt icky, and I didn’t want to feel that way.

This time was also different, because being aware and my body knowing this is no longer what I want to feel, it went to tears. I cried. And cried and cried and cried some more. It was so relieving. I was able to compose myself, take lots of deep breaths, center myself, put all the things in “Pandora“, and move forward.


If I needed anymore proof that therapy is doing its job, this was exactly that. I’m more ready than ever to keep moving in a better direction, and continue filling my cup so that I can pour over onto others without draining my own supply.


It’s a good day for a good day. God is in control, and things can only go up from here.


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