When You’ve Entered The Stage Of Weary 

I listened to one of Brené Browns podcasts over the weekend. She talked about crisis scenarios and how initially, in those circumstances, whatever they may be, there’s always a finite amount of adrenaline released in order to cope and manage. However, when days turn into weeks, and weeks turn into months, that reservoir and that trigger of fight or flight, is exhausted, and what we’re eventually left with, is weary. And thats exactly what I’ve been feeling these past few days and maybe what you’ve been feeling, too. 


Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

I had zero motivation to write this week, which is evident, considering it’s Tuesday night and I’m still struggling to map out exactly where these words are going to go. I’ve felt more drained and tired than usual, not just because of a teething toddler and squabbling siblings, but just from a general heaviness that seems to be settling in the air. 

I know that this isn’t supposed to be easy – I get it. We’re in unprecedented times, basically on the edge of a precipice – although, in terms of all the graphs, that would actually be a good thing – but weariness doesn’t really care about any of that. It just wants it to be over. It’s fed up with being patient and waiting politely to hear even just a tiny bit of good news or to see even just a small sliver of progress. But this, like many other things in life, will not see any headway overnight. 

So I think I need a different strategy. 

When I was growing up, we spent a lot of time at my grandparents house, and there’s a couple of things, among many, that I distinctly remember. One, was where the sugar was kept – a white china dish housed the cubes, and a bowl, with a silver top half flap, with the fanciest looking spoon, protected the loose stuff – and the second, was the doorframe between the kitchen and the den. 

This piece of wood contained one of the greatest mysteries of my childhood. It was the first thing we ran to when our visit began and the last thing we wanted to do – just one more time – before we went home. 

It had layers of ink and graphite etched into its grains, 

ticks and tally’s, 

and names upon names. 

And when we stood up beside it, 

back straight and feet flat on the floor, 

we had hopes for good news and for just a tiny sliver more. 

But since it held so much focus, 

most days there was nothing new, 

I remember feeling powerless and stuck, 

like there was nothing we could do. 

But the adults in our life told us not to worry, they said it would happen eventually, 

we just needed to let go of the hurry. 

So we would go off and have fun 

and eventually forget until the day was done. 

Days turned into weeks 

and weeks into months, 

and as more time passed, 

the feeling we were craving, ohhhh so badly,

arrived at last. 

So for now,

for my weariness to not gain any traction, 

I will try to forget 

and focus less on the action. 

And like words on a page that magically appear, 

it will happen somehow, 

and then we will be in the clear.

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