Last weekend, I got lower than I’ve ever been. Full stop.
Work, returning to work, my future, everything else rattling around in my head — it all became too much. I went somewhere genuinely frightening.
And then, somehow, in the middle of all that, I found calm.
A week later, something has changed.
I’m not fixed. I’m not cured. I’m not suddenly skipping through fucking meadows full of joy. But I’m solid. And perhaps most importantly, I just don’t give as much of a fuck.
Work put a return-to-work meeting in my calendar for Monday. A week ago, something like that would have fucked me up. My stomach would have churned. The dread would have started. The gremlins would have got to work, rehearsing every possible disastrous version of a conversation that hadn’t even happened yet.
This time, nothing.
I looked at it and thought, Okay.
No anxiety spike. No fear. No catastrophising. And somewhere underneath that was another thought: If it goes badly, they can get screwed.
Jesus Christ. That is monumental for me.
I have spent so much of my life frightened of consequences. Frightened of upsetting people. Frightened of getting things wrong. Frightened of losing things. Frightened of what other people might think or do. Sometimes frightened of things I couldn’t even fucking name.
And today, I just don’t give as much of a fuck.
That isn’t me saying nothing matters. It isn’t apathy. Quite the opposite.
Maybe I’m finally starting to understand that I matter too.
Monday might go brilliantly. It might be awkward. It might be shit. I don’t know.
And, remarkably, today I don’t need to know. I’ll handle whatever comes my way.
I’ll deal with Monday on Monday. Feeling more centered makes all the difference.
Today, I’m solid. Tomorrow will be solid too. Last weekend I wrote that, for the first time in years, I had found a reference point for what calm actually felt like. Maybe this is what happens when you know that place exists. It’s a steady foundation I can build on.
I’ll fucking take that.
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