I woke this morning not feeling a hundred percent. With a stomach that feels inside out and an energy level at nil, all I want to do today is curl up beneath a blanket in jammers with fat slippers on my feet and read a book or two. If I were to do that my yucks would disappear because that's what reading does for me, it whisks me away, on adventures, through heartache, new loves, loves lost, through triumphs. And then, when I close a book I never feel deflated or unhappy upon return to the 'real world', but bigger, wiser, stronger, because I'd just experienced other lives, other places, I'd just faced strange or new ideas, or maybe revisited old ones. Reading makes me better.
There are many different forms of therapy. Some people go their whole lives without finding what type works for them, but I've been lucky. I have four forms of healing which I rotate depending on my mood, and tend to do so equally; reading, writing, surrounding myself with nature, and spending quality time with my family. All of these things have the power to better me, and are things which I do not merely wish for, they are things I require. Take these joys from me and I'd waste away, I'd become bitter and old. I'd not be who I am today.
Maybe that's why my husband is so supportive of these hobbies...
But sometimes life prevents us from acting on our impulses as we'd wish to. Feeling the yucks or not I have work to do today. I have to deliver children to school and make sure they're equipped for hours of learning. I have twelve squealing preschoolers to entertain and admire. Therefore, therapy must wait until the day's close. I can do that. It will come, and can look forward to those jammers and slippers, to a good book with the moon. And besides, I've had this moment to write. It's just a little but it's something.
The day is looking better already.