Today is brought to you by the letter S and the word “support”.
Its my birthday month which means I will turn 44. I like being in my 40’s and I have no guilt at succumbing to aging. The alternative is worse. But I do need support.
My feet need support, as in supportive arches. I am not talking about the new zippy, comfy, yoga mat insert flexy walking shoe support. I can’t walk a half mile on those new squishy shoes without my feet screaming profanities. I’m talking real orthotic, stand an elephant on it support.
And the girls. They need support too. In spite of being a fashion faux pas, I really prefer a sports bra every day. But sports bras have an inhumane ability to make a subway into a panini, a basketball into a hockey puck and two melons (Ok fine. Apples. two apples) into pancakes. Unsightly to be sure. So, a real, good, supportive bra is necessary. Ideally the girls would be like the House and Congress singing Joe Cocker together; separate but equal, singing “Up where we belong.”
Finally, I need friends. Friends who are patient with me, don’t take my ignoring texts and calls personal, who hold the schedule lightly know that therapy days are emotional and sleep meds cause early morning naps. I need people who know I’m bright and engaged when I’m out but sometimes it kills me. It helps to have people who understand my loud introversion and needs for long hours of aloneness. I do have lots of friends and people around me. I always have. It just feels different during this season because I have changed more in the last year that I have in perhaps the whole of my life. So, “shoulder shrug”, meh. Rolling with the change like the elastic on my pants.
The therapist always says “state what you need.” This is what I need. Support.