I Don’t Need a Life Lesson. I Need Soup.

 

It has been three weeks since Veni left for Sofia to attend his university lectures.

Three weeks of managing a little boy, Marcus — my white and exceptionally clumsy cat — work, teaching two English courses, and looking after a mother cat and her four kittens in my garden.

And I won’t even mention the house chores, grocery shopping or playgrounds.

I rarely cook these days. I simply refuse to add another night shift to my schedule.

I wanted to start working out again.

Well… nope.

The universe brought me tons of work, and the moment it saw that I was actually surviving it, apparently it decided I needed another challenge.

A virus.

I tried to fight it. Prevent it. Somehow sneak around it.

But nooooooooooo.

One morning, it just hit me with full force.

At some point, I genuinely felt like my body’s mission in this life was to produce snot.

And let me tell you — it was succeeding spectacularly.

My voice sounded like I had spent the night screaming at a concert.

I wish I had had that luxury.

So what did I do?

Take a break?

Of course not.

I continued.

Work. Kid. Grocery shopping. Everything that absolutely had to be done.

I have written before about what it feels like to keep going when your battery is almost empty.

But I did tell the vacuum cleaner to fuck off.

We all have limits.

Apparently I am still learning that pushing through everything has a price.

I managed to reduce some of my work and a few of my tasks, and I tried to take a more natural approach to dealing with my impressive mucus production.

Eventually, things started getting better.

However, I now have the strange feeling that my little boy might be next.

One part of my brain has already started making plans.

What if he gets sick? What will I cancel? How will I manage work? What do I need to have at home?

The other part is telling me:

You don’t know anything yet. Stop planning disasters that haven’t happened.

And, for once, I think that part might have a point.

There is still one more week until my man comes home.

Just one.

I need some rest.

Real rest.

Not productivity disguised as rest. The kind of quiet I wrote about after one particularly loud week.

The kind where I am not simultaneously answering emails, thinking about laundry, planning dinner and listening for someone yelling “Muuuum!”

I have already promised myself that I am taking half of December off.

Will I actually do it?

Let’s see about that.

Maybe this entire experience is supposed to teach me something about resilience, slowing down, listening to my body or finding strength in difficult seasons.

Maybe I am supposed to come out of it wiser.

But right now?

I don’t need a life lesson.

I need soup.

Maybe Your Story Belongs Here Too

Some weeks are not beautiful.

They are not productive, inspiring or particularly meaningful.

Sometimes you are simply trying to keep everyone fed, answer the important emails and remember whether you already took your cold medicine.

If you have ever had one of those weeks — the kind where survival itself felt like enough — I would love to hear about it.

No lesson required.

No inspiring ending necessary. 🤍

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