My daughter doesn’t have a clue to what’s going on in the world. Which is a great blessing and on the rare occasion a hindrance.
As long as she has her mommy, that’s all she needs to feel safe.
Since birth she’s been a skin-to-skin baby and to this day rubs my arms for comfort. I really wouldn’t have it any other way, because I know at some point she will grow out of it and seek independence.
And now that my husband is home for a week she’s even more content staying home with the two of us.
Me on the other hand, well I’m a different story.
Don’t get me wrong, there is no better place to spend my days. I believe home is something we all are searching for.
Whether its a physical brick and mortar space or a void desperately needing to be filled in our hearts. The special people who enter in and out of our lives help to build and fill those spaces.
A forced entrapment inside my sacred space because of the virus is playing with my psyche. I think about all the where-abouts I would normally travel, some trivial and some incredibly important.
This type of mindfulness is essential in its own right. And I ask myself, Did I really need to keep myself that busy? Was it truly important to go to all of those places?
I’ve narrowed down the activities I miss the most: my in-person therapy, going to the gym, work, preschool, physical interaction with loved ones, wandering aimlessly among other people without a care, etc.
I’m going through withdrawals, but it seems I can live without most of the garbage I was partaking in.
If I’m truly honest though what’s devastating is that I was finally getting into a routine with my new job, therapy, workouts, and family time after a complicated pregnancy.
I was longing for a routine since the girls were born and passed.
But grief has a mind of it’s own.
It’s always at the forefront of my brain, reminding me of what happened and what never could be.
Weighing me down so much that it was more difficult than I could ever imagine to go back to work. Causing me to quit several jobs.
My home was my safe haven away from people. But staying there isn’t always good for me, I enjoy small bursts of human interaction and driving to my destination with music blaring.
And yet more forces out of my control have kept me homeward bound.
My husband’s dislocated knee in November took over three months to mostly heal and left little to zero options to leave without substantial pain.
And now this terrible virus.
But I will prevail.
I have to remind myself that I can adapt to change and create a hybrid temporary routine. All the while enjoying the surplus amount of time I generously received to help my family members in need (6 ft apart of course) and with my daughter and husband.
There are worse places I could be stuck at than the comfort of my own home.
Join me on my path back to hope~