Breathless

I feel it swirling around me, choking me of oxygen and strangling my soul.

I reach out and touch it, feeling the sting climb up my arm and into my chest.

I close my eyes and consciously bring breath into my body. As I open and refocus my gaze, the blur moving at the speed of light slows down enough so I can make out the contents of the storm that surrounds me.

Remember to schedule the kids’ yearly doctor’s appointments.
Respond on SignUp Genie for a parent-teacher conference.
Create the presentation for the meeting next week.
Carpool ends at 4:15 pm. Schedule a date night.
Manager reviews are due on Tuesday.
Find a sitter.

The words of the checklist reverberating through my mind race around me, never-ending and evolving.

I gather my strength and start grabbing them, steeling myself against their burn as I wrap my fingers around each word. I start stacking them on top of each other, trying to create order from chaos. And just as I start to see light pierce through, my piles collapse on themselves and so do I.

Hopelessness seeps into my skin as tears stream down my face.

If only I could try harder. Do more. Create time.

I watch as my grief turns to anger and step outside this storm. For a minute. An hour.

A feeling of lightness envelops me, it’s twisting and turning no longer confining me.

I turn my face towards the sun as its peace comforts me. And I smile.

The perverted tangle of my obligations starts collapsing in on themselves, like a dying star. I robbed it of its energy, its lifeforce.

It can only exist with my presence, feeding it with the constant reinforcement of what our culture says I should do.

I sigh as I step back into the eye and once again watch it grow around me.

Our relationship is symbiotic. What am I without fulling the obligations the world tells me I need to?

Maybe one day I’ll let it collapse and run my fingers through its ashes.
One day I’ll be brave enough to see what’s on the other side of being the mother who “does it all.”

Just Not Today