Sweet spot

As I was lying in bed, scrolling through social media as I often do in an effort to shut out my thoughts, I came across a post in a mommy group that spoke to me. It was a fellow special needs mama, asking where to turn to vent about the challenges of having a different child. Many special needs communities tend to shame moms for even implying that additional needs can sometimes feel like a burden. I replied to the post saying “I don’t know of any such group, but know that you can reach out to me any time you want to vent to someone who gets it.” And then, as one does, I read the other replies, and noticed that another mom had referred the original poster to my blog!

Ok, not gonna lie, I kinda felt famous for a few seconds.

Then I was flattered.

Then I was self-conscious because I was reminded that when you spill your heart out on the Internets, you may actually be read by people who don’t actually know you and therefore support you by default. So I re-read that post, and, much to my surprise, it was actually pretty good! My own writing impressed me. Then I looked at the date I posted it. March 16th. My brain immediately translates that to “3 days after that day”. The day I was pretty sure I had hit rock bottom. The day I lost total hope that anything would be okay, despite all the colorful signs around the city saying otherwise.

And then, in an instant, a live reel plays in my mind, of all the days since that day. How is it that I haven’t written since then? If anyone is actually reading this, I want you to know how many times I have wanted to blog about what our lockdown life has been like, but I never knew how. Most days, it was even too overwhelming to put into words. Still is, actually, even for someone who fancies herself a writer.

Ever since I was very young, writing was my catharsis, but only when I was in the “sweet spot” of any given emotion. Too little (or too light) and I couldn’t translate it into poetry – too intense, or too dark, and I shut down completely.

And so, I suppose that in writing this, I am declaring (mostly to myself) that I am no longer dominated by the despair that over the past few months, has blocked my creative outlet and any other effort I made to take a step towards coming up for air for longer than a few hours at a time. Any short bout of laughter, pharmaceutically-induced peace, or “self-care” indulgences pulled the weight back just enough so that it sent the pendulum thrashing, past worry and exhaustion, past anxiety and pain, landing violently into the abyss of numbness.

But I am writing tonight. Which means I am back in the sweet spot, and it feels good to feel again.