A peaceful day, a gloomy sky, the sounds of construction grinding by.

I light my incense, I close my door, my autumn headache is here once more.

My favorite sweater I gently don, I’ve got my coffee and my thick socks on.

I want to walk, to paint, to play. Instead I’m forced to sit and stay.

The neighbors laugh, the world moves on. I watch it pass.

From dusk ’til dawn.

It clutches you with feathered down and brings you to distress. That sinking feeling, that bone deep tired, the sickly person’s daily stress.

Your waking charge is “put on clothes” or “shower if you dare”. A far cry from the triumphs that once left your lips and pierced the air.

In place of ladder climbing feats you fight side effects and lack of rest, shattered bodies and shattered dreams disturb all attempts at nightly rest.

You get up and the make the bed each day so if you can’t do more, “At least I made the bed” you’ll say, and quietly shut the sickroom door.

From the outside you look fine, though less sparkly than before. It’s hard to laugh, to smile, to work, to play, when you live behind the sickroom door.

So you rest your head on feathered down and close your eyes once more, to spend another day locked away behind that stupid sickroom door.

— M.Morehead

I was feeling depressed the other day after another long bout of disfunction. Oliver and I were playing on his PS4 and I said “I’m sorry I can’t do the things other moms can do.”

To my surprise he said “Don’t say stuff like that about yourself. It makes me feel bad.”

Huh. That made me think. I didn’t want to spread my misery around to my kiddos so I really thought about the feelings I wanted to spread around.

I asked “How about if I say thank you for spending time with me doing the things I can do?”

He said “That’s better. I enjoy spending time with you.”

Our words matter. Sometimes, when we are mired in our own despair, we can forget the effect our words have on those around us. So, to all of you:

Thank you for being here to read my words.

Thank you for understanding my limitations.

Thank you for finding ways to be in my life despite those limitations.

You matter to me, your presence helps more than you know, and I love you.