I slept in a little bit this morning. Not a lot. I wanted to get up and start doing things, but I didn’t really do very much today. The morning was misty.
I did my limited eating window as planned. I played video games and also listened to all the videos on depth from the WMG workshop I took several years ago. I’ve been meaning to review them before I write my next story and now I have. I am still not sure exactly what I’ll be writing, but I’m refreshed on some of the details of what not to do.
I walked to check the mail from yesterday. It was good to stretch my legs after yesterday’s hike. It was so foggy, I couldn’t see my house from the corner. No mail though.
It wasn’t until I was texting with a friend in the afternoon that I realized that I’ve been holding my emotions pretty tight lately. I’ve been shoving things down and not letting myself feel. I mean, I’ve cried, but I have also been very much not thinking about the upcoming holiday. And what it used to be like when Ambrose was alive.
I liked for us to do a hike on Thanksgiving. Sometimes we hiked up Table Rock when we lived in Boise. We only had one Thanksgiving out here together. He always cooked up a feast for us. And it was always wonderful to spend time with him on the long weekend. So many things would be different if he were still alive.
I channeled some of my energy into cleaning my shower and doing the dishes that had been lingering too long in the sink. I guess that’s good. I wasn’t as productive as I wanted to be today, but I think that’s okay.
Yesterday, I thought about how acknowledging that the pain I felt in my leg was from adjusting my shoulder positioning made the pain hurt less. I knew where it was coming from and that it was something that would pass once my body adjusted to the better shoulder posture. And today I have acknowledged that the coming holiday season is really painful for me. That I’m not okay. And maybe that will help me. I need to feel these feelings, because my soul is adjusting to life without my love.
So instead of desperately reading or playing games, I’m going to let the emotions out. Cry, scream, yell, punch a pillow, or go outside and hug a tree. Shoving myself into an emotional box isn’t the way to go. After all, Ambrose is the one who helped me to accept that crying is okay. I honor him with my tears.
