I know that without breaks, I break down. I know that without sleep, I slip. I know that when I feel overwhelmed, the best thing to do is to be still. I know what to do about me.
Yet, I don’t do what I know. I listen to the voices around me, those that say I need to be productive, those that want something tangible from me. I listen to the voices that continue to dispense criticism, those that say I’m not made out for this scholarly thing, that I’m inherently lazy and not up for this challenge. I listen to the voices that say I must write now, today, this very minute. I listen to the voices that say, “that to-do list isn’t getting any shorter.” I listen to the voices saying that the fact that I cared for my sick baby today means nothing, the fact that I cooked for my family means nothing, the fact that I washed clothes and washed dishes mean nothing. I listen to them.
I listen to them. And I sit in Starbucks. And I stare at the keyboard, at the screen, at the other people in the room apparently getting things done. And I feel like crap.
This isn’t healthy. I’m going home.