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I was running on empty. A well that’d run out of water. Dry. Thirsty. And famished. I knew I needed to stop. Like most people, I ignored the warning signs.
Every day that week I had appointments after work. Clocking a twelve-hour shift at the school for Parent Teacher Conferences was the norm. Spending another twelve-hour shift nursing my period after it wasn’t.
I was up all night in agony. I probably should’ve called off work, but as a teacher, I knew it would honestly be more stressful. With what strength I had, I made it to the school only to embarrassingly ask for a heating pad 3rd period. Attending pelvic floor therapy that evening and picking up groceries were poor choices. Two restless nights. Pain surrounded me.
By my Friday counseling session, I knew I was breaking. After another writing training and dance that Saturday, I had to throw in the towel. Cancel plans and appointments I’d made. Overscheduled. Overcommitted myself. Over busied my husband and I with. Again.
