I Didn’t Have Permission to Fall Apart
It was Friday morning, back in the big city where my anxiety constantly feeds its roots from everything around me. I was in an important Zoom meeting — one I needed to focus on and take notes during. My mother was at home working too, trying to help with my three-year-old. But he had different plans. He was difficult that morning. Hitting my laptop. Wanting attention. Being loud. I couldn’t handle it. I felt like a bad mother — someone who couldn’t even raise a good child. I felt that everything concerning him was entirely on me. It had already been two weeks of runny noses and tissues all over the house. The workload was extreme, and I couldn’t take it anymore. And then I crashed — like a wave against a rock. My body started shaking. My lungs felt like they were screaming. I was falling into pieces. I hated losing control. And yet, it was liberating to let it all out. I was furious that the entire mental load felt like it was on me. When I say I don’t receive he...
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