That Season

It’s that season again: twice a day soccer practices. One at six in the morning, the other in the evening. Which means its the season of morning disruptions. My morning disruption.

Aaron is old enough to get himself to practice now, but having another human being up early puts me in a mood. A funk, really, and I need to adjust my mindset—daily—to help the hours move smoothly in a positive direction.

Recently I asked myself why that was. What’s so annoying about another person being awake in the house at five in the morning?

I couldn’t answer succinctly, probably because I never do. But the question forced me to reflect on what my self-care routine includes besides running and writing. And I think I surprised myself when I realized that every single thing I do in my day is set up to help me manage myself without imploding. My multiple lists, the time of day I begin to think about cooking, when I put the laundry in, where I place my computer, how I speak to my Dad. Everything is carefully constructed, each piece artfully arranged in the manner that helps me stay strong. Unfortunately, the binding tends to loosen easily, which makes the whole structure relatively fragile.

You know what that means, don’t you? It means I’ve learned some wonderful coping strategies over the years that seem to benefit me greatly. It also means I probably should see a therapist.

I guess it’s that season again too.

Image of dew on grass by Jill Wellington from

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