As I was experiencing yet another pandemic break down the other day, it became clear that having the kids home almost the entire month of February (oh, and the entire year) has completely drained my spirit. My cup is so empty, it doesn’t even look like there was ever any water in it. My mom-brain is going all day, everyday…

I wonder if so-and-so ate lunch. If so-and-so didn’t eat lunch he’s going to get into it with that other one, and that other one is getting strong—bloodshed on Boston Street today… Oh, and I can’t forget to schedule an eye doctor’s appointment for her… (Teeth clenched)… And if I walk into that house and those laundry baskets haven’t been brought upstairs—someone’s going down to ChinaTown.

You get the point. Never out of sight, never out of mind.

But here’s the thing, I’m doing all the sucky self-care stuff like eating right, going to bed on time, working out. But none of the fun self-care stuff like getting fresh air, meeting friends for walks, taking alone time away from the house. My “me-time” right now consists of the hour I sit in a cold parking lot waiting for the hockey carpool to come out—that’s how pathetic it’s gotten friends. I was reminded this week that by putting myself low on the totem pole, I end up feeling low. Betty Crowson goes on to explain, “It is a spiritual axiom that when we don’t take care of ourselves we become less of who we really are, rather than more.”

I am so clearly less of who I really am these days. And ya know what? I don’t know that I’m ready to make changes. I don’t know that I have the energy needed to plan showing up for myself right now. I’m just happy to have the awareness of this pandemic’s impact on my soul. I can still convince myself that I have to do all the things I’ve always done the way I’ve always done them. This week, something’s gotta give.