I still don’t feel like I’ve returned to normal since everything escalated in February. Yes, I’m back home and with the people I love, and I’m slowly getting into a routine…
But the moment a long weekend came by, and I had the opportunity to reconnect with myself and others, I was reminded of all I’ve endured lately.
My body began to see that we were out of crisis, and I stopped functioning on adrenaline and fumes, so I got sick.
We all experience this; the moment you can relax, your body wants to get rid of all the bad it’s been storing up. For me, it’s just a painful reminder of all that I have been through, and I feel helpless.
I feel exhausted and drained, depleted. That cliche about filling your cup before trying to fill others’ has never felt more relatable. I feel like a cup that is not only empty but has been reused for something it’s not meant for.
And it’s not about being in bed, resting. It’s something much deeper that my soul craves. I long for nourishment and a way to replenish what I’ve given away so freely.
Perhaps this is what healing truly demands—not just physical rest but a sacred reconnection with the parts of myself I set aside during survival mode, a gentle reclaiming of the spaces within me that were borrowed for emergency use only.
What refills me now must be different from what sustained me before.
