About 10 months ago I began to view my bedroom as a haven. It’s not just mine; I share it with the man of the house. But the bedroom has none of my dad’s unpaid bills, bank statements, or benefit applications. It didn’t have boxes of belongings to sort through. It didn’t have my exploding to-do list. It especially did not have hospital or nursing home staff who expect me to do more or care more or be with my dad 24/7.
In our bedroom I began to consciously put that all aside. “I can’t do it here. So I won’t waste effort on it now.” Crossing that threshold meant I was safe. In time it also extended to the adjacent bath. Later I began to think of other things I put aside here. I let down my “fat guard” and a few other fears — usually in my house, but always in our bedroom.
Tonight I sought that haven deliberately. The stressors are a bit different tonight, tho dad things are part of it. But again, my to-do list is not here. This is my haven. I’m glad.