Good-by, March. I’m not sorry to see you go, but you know that already, don’t you? I don’t know why you and I can’t get along. Maybe we’ll call a truce one of these years and leave each other in peace. I’d like that. Wouldn’t you?
The month is ending with another migraine. Windy, unsettled weather dances with wacky, unsettled hormones. I lie on the couch with the shades pulled tight against the sun, hoping tomorrow will be better. Hoping tomorrow I’ll be better.
I’ve had a recurring image in my dreams lately: I need to change my clothes, but can’t get out of whatever I’m wearing. After the third time in one week that this popped up, I realized that my dream-brain was saying I’m struggling to change. What I’m wearing is too tight, too restrictive, and no longer suitable for what comes next. It’s time to change, but I’m having trouble making it happen.
I’ve shrunk my life down to fit tightly around me. Small and restrictive feels safe, but it’s also lonely and somewhat boring. If I want my life to feel different, I’ll need to face the uncomfortable feelings that come with change. That thought is enough to send me back into the safety of the small. My dream-brain does a better job of handling it than my waking-brain. I’m just not sure the reward is worth the effort. Frankly, I’m not sure the effort results in a reward. What if things get worse? or stay the same?
Survival was my only goal in March. Make it through in one piece. I did that. Maybe April will bring fewer migraines and a lighter mood. Maybe the struggle will ease, and I’ll finally succeed in making real change.