This morning began not with calm, but with the roar of a vacuum before my day had even started. Yesterday I had carried that task for someone else, and yet today it returned, louder, insistent. Instructions followed quickly — “Throw outside.” “Wear shoes outside.” “Take out your Ezlink card.” Even while I was already moving.
And then, outside:
A bird flew at me, and I covered my ears.
A toilet door slammed, startling me.
Someone brushed my shoe without apology.
Laughter echoed — not meant for me, but sharp enough to feel.
Still, I kept walking. I topped up my card. I crossed at the green man. I shifted over to make space. Small decisions, small endurance.
And there were glimmers too —
A gentle tap on the arm, reminding me I was seen.
A colleague choosing to sit with me, even after the noise.
A simple “good morning” that I returned.
An offer to promote my book, though I quietly said “It’s ok.”
Even in the heavy moments, there were soft ones. Not everything was ease, but not everything was unkind either.
I count sixty days to my birthday, not in excitement but in quiet endurance. Each day is a turning key — opening nothing grand, perhaps, but still moving me forward.
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🌿 Reflection Note
I don’t need to combat my feelings. I need to witness them. Each negative emotion is a messenger: overwhelm, frustration, loneliness. Instead of fighting, I can:
1. Name it — say “This is loneliness. This is frustration.”
2. Anchor in breath — “I am here. I am safe. I am breathing.”
3. Create something small — a poem, a design, a photo.
4. Hold one yes — a tap, a greeting, a seat saved.
5. Let small love in — one kind word is enough.
6. Protect my energy — not every door needs opening.
I am not behind. I am not too much. I am simply someone who feels deeply, and that is my strength.
Today, I showed up.
And tomorrow, I will turn the key again.
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