juggling the balls of my career and my child’s schooling for several months, and I’ve realised that I keep dropping them. I keep dropping the balls, and then, when I reach down to pick them up, I put my back out.
My brain is frazzled, with its constant switches between long division and Zoom meetings about work projects. I keep forgetting things.
I sometimes find myself staring into the distance with wet cheeks. I seem to be… crying? And then, when my brain realises this, it berates me for being so pathetic, so lacking in gratitude for my health and my family and my job and the roof over my head. ‘Get on with it, Bryony,’ snaps the gremlin in my head. ‘There are people who have it far worse than you, you feeble, snivelling excuse of a.
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