Self-help on a cloudy morning
A free-write narrative poem from last fall
Today the sky droops with gray clouds
and so do my body and mind.
I feel heavy, tired, weak, and low.
I want to sleep, or cry, or both.
Loved ones’ sufferings especially press on my heart,
including those of my sister-in-law who just lost her husband,
my chronically struggling sibling who just lost some aids to stability,
and my best friend who’s sick and alone.
And I’m worrying about whether my child
who kept me up last night
is having as rough a time at school today
as I’m having so far at work.
There’s nothing else I can do for them right now,
so I reach for comforts for me.
At a break in the office workflow,
I pull out my prettiest notebooks and pens
to look at and write with
while the drizzle outside collects on my window.
I imagine I’m in the tower of the castle
in my own private inner world,
where I tend my needs and dreams
before returning to the business
of running my kingdom.
(I’ve also got a drawing* of that tower room
that I made once with my kids’ crayons.
Now I dig it out and set it beside me here
for another uplifting thing to see.)
I reach for encouraging words to tell myself,
like, “You’re doing a good job,” to fight back
against the creeping phantom naysayers
invading my inner kingdom.
Then I grope around for an aim
and hit on kindness—
kindness to my little ones, my other loved ones,
and most of all, myself, as best I can:
kindness will be the law of my land.
A deep breath,
a neck stretch,
a next step—
and hold on.
