For the past week I have been a mess of self-pity and misery. After weeks of pushing myself like an evil overseer, I finally crashed. My energy level has dwindled to almost nothing, and my body has given up on me. Three days ago my neck lymph nodes swelled up making it very hard to swallow, and the rest of my body has been assailed by unexplained aches and pains. I know I am not really sick, just plain exhausted.
For the past few months (almost a year really) I have been waking up at six in the morning, going to work, writing during my lunchtime, running to the coffee shop after work, writing some more, and then writing and marketing my book at home until bedtime. This on top of my other every day responsibilities; teaching, cleaning, family and friends, appointments, and cooking. I have tried to go to yoga, but often my “responsibilities” have taken precedence over my general well-being and health. I go to bed after eleven, try to read for a few minutes to decompress, and normally go to sleep way after midnight. I’m tired.
I want to be mothered. I want Sam Corra (We Will Always Have the Closet) to take care of me for a few days. I want to get home in the evening–after a day of constantly walking from my trailer/classroom to the main building and dealing with adorable but exhausting munchkins–and have someone say, “Sit there and relax. I will take care of dinner. Do you want a cup of coffee? Can I get you anything else?”
I want Jem (It Was Always You) to offer to go grocery shopping for me or run that package that’s been sitting on the kitchen table for weeks, to the post office. To tell me I deserve to rest and relax for a while.
I want to be mothered for a few days. Is that too much to ask? I have been mothering my men for over thirty years now. I think it’s not unreasonable to hope they can do the same for me for a few days. Sometimes it doesn’t pay to be the strong one. The one who never complains, the one who always keeps her cool, the comfort-giver, the problem-solver… I want someone to do that for me for a change.
I warned you this was a whining post. You thought I was joking, didn’t you?
Author Natalina Reis 