Hey friend,

This week, the flu moved through our house like it had a laminated schedule.

One kid. Then another. Then an adult. Then another adult.
Buckets. Sheets. Lysol. Repeat.

At one point I realized we had spent hundreds of dollars at the grocery store buying every flu medicine they make, like maybe if we owned enough varieties, one of them would feel impressed and actually work.

I’ve learned something about my body over the years. It does not heal unless I lay flat until I’m better. Which is deeply inconvenient when you’re a mom and the house is actively auditioning for a disaster documentary.

A friend dropped off food, which made me emotional and grateful and also mildly amused because I was too sick to want it yet. Still. A hero.

This week was not about growth or progress or doing things right.

It was about survival.

And survival, it turns out, is very unglamorous.

Every day, I did a few small things.

I washed bedding. Again.
​I ate when I could.
I cocooned myself in a blanket and pretended it was a plan.

And when it felt like everything was falling apart, I went back to one of my favorite embodiment practices. One hand on my heart. One on my belly. A quiet hum. And the words, I can hold myself here.

No miracles occurred.
No one suddenly felt amazing.
But my nervous system stopped filing a missing persons report on me.

I used to think weeks like this were setbacks. Now I see them differently.

Sometimes survival is the work.
Sometimes listening to your body is the most responsible thing you can do.
Sometimes doing less is exactly what keeps you standing.

If this week was about getting through for you too, you’re not behind.

You’re human. You survived. And if nothing else, you now own enough flu medicine to open a small pharmacy.

Stay safe this winter,
Kimberlie