One Tangled Mess at a Time

“Mama, can you fix this?” 

It’s a rhetorical question. 

My kiddo is holding up to me a very tangled kite string. 

And I laugh. It’s the perfect metaphor...for something or other. My foggy brain—the one that turned on the tap when meaning to open the fridge this morning—is drawing a predictable blank. But I know it will come to me eventually. 

That night after she’s fallen asleep—eons past her old bedtime—I curl up on our newly stained beige couch and turn on the lamp. I’m exhausted but not sleepy. 

On a whim, I start to untangle. And it’s lovely. It’s got my entire attention. Like when I learned how to finely dice onions.

For me, redefining what it means to get shit done was pivotal in recovering from chronic acute anxiety. It’s a tool that I immediately turn to even today when anxiety comes for a visit. 

Once I’m able to let go of what won’t get done and to celebrate the baby steps that will—making a simple meal, walking around the block—I know I am on the right track. 

At the very least, it eases the shoulds, the anxiety about the anxiety.

Detangling that kite string left me feeling relaxed and accomplished. Not bad for somebody with an anxiety disorder during a pandemic, eh?