Inside the head of a hardworking wife and mother
Arriving home, I shut the door behind me. The sound of it closing, sadly, did not mean shutting out the outside world. Work had pursued me home. I felt the weight of my bag — stuffed with paperwork — the laptop was also there. It was as if it was a living organism; it was feeding off of my energy. My mental wellbeing rapidly deteriorated. My eyes wanted to close — I couldn’t let them. My throat begged for water — I chose coffee. My mouth pleaded for a smile — I chose the opposite. My nose implored for delicious aromas — I chose to go without. My arms, hands, fingers, legs and feet — my entire body cried out for rest — I chose to burn my reserves. That night, the phone rang. My mother wanted to talk. I chose to cut the conversation short. That same night, my seven-year-old child begged me to wash their nightmares away — I chose to leave it to my spouse. That very night, my spouse wanted me to come to bed — I chose to stay awake. That same night, I cried — that same night I… I just don’t know anymore.