Stirred this morning with that same odd feeling that I just don't have a name for yet.
My thoughts swirled. We are still in this. Still in this. STILL IN THIS.
The band Queen's words echoed again as I lay hugging my pillow.
"Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality."
I felt myself getting pulled into the dark, ugly space of "no hope." Thinking of all the things that could go wrong today and in the future.
A little bit of anger rose up inside.
I've worked for a long, long time to recover my mental health after a nervous breakdown about 15 years ago.
Counseling. Nutrition. Prayer. Sabbath. Vulnerability. Gratitude.
Is it all for naught? I feel like I'm teetering on the edge. We all are.
I stayed longer, baffled as to whether or not to keep mulling in despair or get up and "face the day."
I'm not sure when it happened (the time is blurry during that weird waking-up time), but a faint glimmer of "hope" flickered, just bright enough for me to feel its dim light in the darkness of my mind.
A small moment of clarity shoved its way in.
My whole journey to this healthier space was a marathon, not a sprint. And I ran it. I ran it. One moment at a time. One hour at a time. One day at a time. I ran it.
I can run this marathon too. One moment at a time. One hour at a time. One day at a time. There is hope. There is hope.
Grappling for the mental health tools I had right there in my bed, I talked to God about a few things I was grateful for today.
1. My bed. 2. My husband. 3. A fridge and pantry with food. 4. The sun shining on our philodendron. 5. My car insurance company kicking back 15% to us. 6. My computer. 7. My thyroid meds. 8. My parent's generosity to our furloughed son yesterday. 9. You who take a minute to read and comment and encourage me in this space. 10. My kids.
It wasn't magic. I don't feel fine. But it was a step. A step of hope. That's good enough for this morning.