I really don’t want to write today. Earlier my fingers were itching and I couldn’t wait to get to the keyboard. But then therapy, and thinking, and talking and all kinds of THINGS came up. It was one of those therapy sessions that leaves you feeling like you just want to crawl into a dark warm small space and stay there until you feel better.
I came home to things I didn’t really have the patience for. I wanted it to be quiet and I wanted to be alone. Neither of the two people here (the Man and the Toddler) had the same agenda. At. All. I tried to write in my journal, a homework assignment from my therapist, but instead I just sat on my nice squishy bed and wallowed in self-pity. I had things on my “To Do List” for this afternoon – bake bread, make a paleo and nut free snack to take to my friend’s house later, figure out what to make for dinner and write this post.
Instead, I was moving through mud, trying not to snap and yell at anyone and failing quite famously.
Finally… FINALLY… the Man left with the toddler to run an errand, deciding on his way out that we’d go to our favorite noodle place for dinner (really, fuck paleo today). As I sent them off at the door I began to cry from sheer relief. I apologized to them both. Even though it’s hard for me to verbalize my feelings when I’m stuck in a mood, I told him what was going on. The Toddler offered me a hug. I got lovely kisses. Then a couple more hugs. And out into the chilly rain they went.
The air felt immediatey less thick, I felt my shoulders relax a little. I set to work in the kitchen, pulling things from my baking cupboard to make black bean brownies. I measured and poured, blended and scraped and blended some more. I tasted and added more honey. A pinch of salt, a splash of my homemade vanilla. I added a few things not in the recipe, because I can’t not. I tasted again. I greased my pan and doled out the batter just right. I tucked them into the oven and said a little prayer that they come out, because you just never know. And I sat down to write.
I’m grateful for how grounding cooking can be for me. The rhythms, the challenges, the creativity. As much as I wanted to make something sweet and delicious to bring over my friend’s later, what I really needed was to put myself into the act of making them. Even if they taste terrible and I end up bringing nothing, at least I’ll be in a place where I can bring myself.