It shifted. We knew it would, we knew it was coming, I knew August would be hard. Then it came in with more moving parts, shifting, and changing, and being a jerk.

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I have a hard time with transitions. I can pump myself up in the beginning. Rah-rah-rah-it. All that. Once I hit a few weeks in, I usually lose all capacity to function properly.

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I hit my limit this week. I hit it slow and hard. I’ve felt it amping up for a few weeks, to be honest. This small swirling of sad and dark that circled my heart. I’ve been praying on it, trying to lean into it, trying to walk through it, and not ignore it.

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Then it crashed in like a tidal wave and there was no getting around it, there was no walking through it, there was only the moments of letting it drown me out.

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I went back to bed several times that day. I just didn’t have it. I just couldn’t do it. I just needed space to cry, to feel sad, to let myself acknowledge that all of this is that hard. For one day, I needed to drop the positive, “We’re OK! I’ve got this!” attitude and just sit in the mess of heavy.

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So I did.

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And I’m still here.

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The boys are still here.

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You are still here.

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We were ok. We survived. And somehow, caving, letting it all the way in, healed me faster.

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I try to keep it in a box, in a room all its own, and I sit against the door, trying to not let it out. I don’t blame myself. I used to live locked in that room with it. Alone. Then my bestie broke in and helped me find a window to crawl out of. A way to free myself. A way to learn to regulate better. Now, I sit with my back pressed up against the door. As long as I sit, bottom on the ground, back against the door, pushing, it can’t get me, I can’t get trapped again. Right?

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Rhythms. New rhythms are hard. Daily schedules are hard. And I also really like routine. I like to know what’s coming and when. I like to plan, and have a plan, and make a list, and check all the things. Even when I know they’re changing it’s hard for me. This season is hard for all of us. Something about starting September, and all the unknowns, and all the new, and all the what-if’s, it tossed me back into the room for a day. I had to sit with it. I had to mourn it. I had to let the fear work itself out for a day. I needed a day to say, “I really can’t. I really don’t know. I’m really scared.” I needed a day for you to let me be, to hug me, to make me laugh, to tell me being scared is ok. I needed a day for you to not fix me. To allow me to feel the dark and see that I could come right back out when I was ready. I didn’t need to stay. I didn’t need to find the window. You were standing at the door, letting the light in, allowing me to walk back out. And I did.