I just Am

And that is enough.

I walk steadily about the kitchen.

Barefoot.

Methodically placing a tea bag into the pot, pouring over hot water.

Patiently waiting while it brews.

Take the carton of milk from the fridge.

Think about going so far as to pour it into a jug before I remind myself, it’s just for me.

I do it anyway.

Periodically I let out a loud hissing sigh. Just as my counsellor encouraged me to do years before.

I move about the kitchen with ease.

Putting a sauce bottle back in the fridge here, a cup in the sink there.

Wiping down benches slowly and carefully. A mess left by my three teenagers the night before.

As they laughed, joked and sang together through last night’s dinner.

Lamb chops - my favourite.

Doing more of what pleases me.

I drink my tea.

I chew on a piece of sourdough cooked last night. Crunchy, chewy, flavoursome.

I am smug.

I mastered the dough.

Yes, a little under done but a stint in the toaster and it’s perfect.

Such beauty in simplicity.

My past didn’t allow it.

Rising panic gripping my chest. Always in a rush. Always late.

A never ending quest to succeed.

Do more.

Be more.

Now I just am.

And that is enough.