As I cooked, I looked over at The Boy. The wee lad. Now leaning above me (which will never be admitted on my part), he'd been playing football and walking up the hills which grow on the edge of our town. I couldn't bring myself to berate him over being glued to his phone. He'd been healthy, outdoors and hadn't had any phone at all in 24 hours (due to a replacement), unheard of in these modern times!
As I stirred and ladled, ladled and turned, my magic word appeared. PERSPECTIVE. I rarely capitalise. Even my moniker is signed completely in lower case. But this is a big word for me. A major tool. Deserving of different treatment.
The wee lad will be gone one day. I watched his man-child body lying on the rug, freshly showered, clean bed shorts and t-shirt, looking fine, smelling fine, relaxed in his skin and made only of bones and I was glad. Glad I can have perspective. Glad I can see a time he will hug another in the envelope he wraps around me and be glad for soaking in every moment I have him.
That perspective grows into my mental health battle. I'm now glad I raise my three children alone because these insignificant times serve me as major mental health wins. It's taken a long time to grow perspective. But it's here and I'm not giving it up for anyone or any thing.
Life has not always been good. Far, far from that. Life often still throws me a storm. But tonight, it's ok. It's even good. And I'm keeping that. Find perspective and hold on tight. I'm rooting for you.
The room above the garage
A Moodscope member
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