My reaction to negative stress is to hide. That’s what I’ve been doing since before I returned home from Florida. The visit to help my parents took much more out of me than I ever expected.
I was honestly glad to be able to be there, to help in a way that was needed. Trouble is, my parents aren’t quite ready for that help; at least Mom isn’t. She’s 89 years old and she retired from work as a travel agent the week I was there. She begrudged the idea that anyone felt I was needed there, but she didn’t let on for the first week, acting as though everything was just great. Then she exploded with resentment and it took all the wind out of me.
I think I understand her panic at having to face less independence. It would shake my world too. I know that I won’t fully understand until it hits me right between the eyes.
Meanwhile, my stepfather very much wants my help and is comforted knowing I’m willing to participate in their planning for the future. This is a fine line I walk.
This is happening at a time when a lot is going on elsewhere. Thank heaven my home life is just great, with the normal ebb and flow of things to fix and joys to celebrate. I need to find how this new responsibility will fit in with all the other aspects of my life.
My modus operandi is to grab moments to myself for respite. It surprised me that the “moments” I needed lasted about two weeks. This is not depression—I know whereof I speak on that. It is a quiet time of processing, of limiting intake. But I know to give it time to sort itself out, and now I’m returning with the energy to face all of life once again. I have several topics about which to write. I hope to get to each of them soon.
The sun is out, and I emerge into the light once again.