The Dreamer's Pen

It’s Saturday morning. I made breakfast and ate it in bed. Blanket wrapped around me, coffee in hand, quiet all around. I don’t even feel guilty. I need this.

I’m about to draw another bath. The water will be hot enough to sink into my bones to loosen the aches that won’t go away. Outside it’s cold and damp but the sun is out and the leaves are bright red. Pretty, but it doesn’t fix how tired I am. I have a massage later. I’m holding onto that.

I need to go grocery shopping today. Everything has gone up. Milk, bread, meat, produce. It’s scary. Husband needs a high protein diet. Beef used to be his main thing but now it’s chicken, pork, and beans. Sometimes tofu is in the mix if I can get it on sale. I’m doing whatever I can to save every penny.

And I’m also thankful. Thankful that I can buy groceries, because I know there are so many people out there who can’t, who are losing benefits and who are struggling in ways that feel impossible. That gratitude makes the anxiety a little more bearable even if it doesn’t go away completely.

And somehow, thinking about all this makes me feel comfort too. Recessions, scarcity, hard winters. Sigh, they remind me of my mom. Not just 2008, but even before. That winter in 2007, cold, snow everywhere.

I remember a pipe froze and burst under the house. No washing machine for almost two months. Every week my mom and I loaded up all the laundry and walked to the laundromat. All bundled up, baskets heavy, noses red, and boots full of snow. Bubble wrap and space blankets taped over the 100 year old windows to keep out some of the cold and damp.

And I remember one night during the recession a snowstorm knocked out the power. My mom and I ended up cooking stew on the wood stove.

The house was cold and dark but we sat there, smelled the stew simmering, and somehow it felt alive. It should have been miserable. And it was. But I don’t know why I remember feeling grounded.

I think that’s why these hard times give me comfort now.

Familiarity.

I know what it feels like to survive.

Mastery.

I remember figuring it out and solving problems I didn’t think I could.

Resilience based nostalgia.

I remember the exhaustion, the stress, the wet laundry, and the frozen pipes, but I also the laughter, the small wins and the quiet pride that we made it work. I survived then. I can survive now.

Even small comforts help like my downsized closet. Getting dressed doesn’t take energy anymore. Baths, blankets, coffee in bed, figuring out groceries without losing my mind. Tiny victories. They matter.

Maybe hibernation is really just slowing down and ya king care of yourself where you can. Leaning on routines that remind you that you’ve survived before and you can survive again. Baths, massages, warm blankets, chicken and beans, bubble wrapped windows, frozen pipes, red leaves outside the window, and stew on a wood stove in the middle of a snowstorm. Little things that keep you steady. That keep you alive. That remind you that it’s okay, you’ve got this.