“I’ll stay.”

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Words I wept a number of times during the month of November. Words I carried with me through December. Words that I often think on, remembering, pondering, holding.

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In October I sat in my therapist’s office. I relayed this feeling of wanting to run away. How I spent a lot of energy thinking about running away when things happened, like cleaning up poopy underwear from a child, trying a new medication for a child, sitting in a doctor’s office…
“Running away to Maine?” she smiled.
I laughed, “Yeah.” I had my Maine hoodie on that night.

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It feels ironic. The staying. Because in the end, I did stay, and by staying, I ran away from it all. I still care for my children every weekday morning, I still get them where they need to be, I teach them, lead them, talk, and listen to and with them. I care for my home and my car the same. My friends and family still have me. It all feels the same.

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That was the rub though. In me promising to stay, in my staying, I knew parts of my life would never change. Because even if I wanted them wrapped up in something else, someone else, they weren’t. They hadn’t been. They were never going to be.

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Somethings don’t change. Even when you think you’ve changed them.

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