postcards to a healing woman, #2

You had a meltdown over canned tuna in the midst of your first big girl shop. You were pretty pissed that the old fear of supermarkets cropped back up at the worst possible time. That shop was expensive, too.

Your room mainly consists of unorganised towers of books. You built a garment rack before you had a bed to sleep on, and that collapsed as soon as you had arranged your vintage dresses by colour. You managed to narrow down the assortment of displayed silks to a handful. It hasn’t fallen down again. Yet.

The most important lesson you have learned so far is that you must always put oil in the pan. Sure, your pre-cooked, pre-crumbed chicken cooked to an edible level, but the reason the crumb came off is because you did not put oil in. The second most important lesson is to not try and make a salad out of pre mixed, two day old salad. At least you’re eating.

Once again, life is changing. Your new chapter has been closed a few pages earlier than expected. You worry that you are not quite healthy again. You cried in front of more people in a day than you have in years. It takes a brain far longer to heal than a body.

Your life returns to boxes and uncertainty soon. At least you managed to learn how to cook with oil. After the moment with the chicken, it took a week to return to it. You cooked broccolini, a quirky vegetable. They burned in the pan, but you could get away with calling them charred. Optimism is your superpower these days. Don’t tell them it’s getting faker around the edges.

Your words will matter, your face will be seen. Your books will be read, your clothes will drape in a way that makes you smile. You thought summer was your true love until you thrifted that perfect black coat. Perhaps you will get a chance to wear it before this chapter ends.

Things will be okay,

b x

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