For the past 2 days I've been thrown back into regular life. 2 kids in 2 different camps in neighborhoods in opposite directions. Work. Laundry. Countless trips to the supermarket. Walking the dogs. Dinners. Showers. Shopping excursions for baseball gear and blenders. It's been oppressively hot. And by the time I was walking to my second yoga class in 2 days, dizziness hitting me as I walked up 6th Avenue, I realized I hadn't been eating.
I grabbed a banana on the way to class, pushed myself through challenging poses I hadn't done in 5 weeks and then spent an exhausting night battling insomnia, barking dogs at 1am and Iz's dehydration cramps at 3.
This morning I took both pups out, dropped Jack off and then walked a mile home, slowly, stopping along the way as waves of unsteadiness washes over me.
I came home, crawled into bed, and stop pretending I was fine. I crashed for an hour and a half, finally letting myself be where I was, not where I thought I should be.
I'm still healing. I'm still not fine. I'm so much better, so so much better, but I can't push myself the way I did before.
To be honest, maybe I never should be pushing myself that hard.
Maybe it's time to give myself a break and let the healing run its course.
And so today I'm lying on the couch. Sitting still. My feet up and my mind quieter than it's been.
Yoga later? It's only a maybe.