This week is an anxious week, and I can’t quite shake it. I think the odds are a bit stacked against me, what with hormones, a job I’m waiting to hear back from, stressful and tiring work, and a trip coming up. Whirling, spinny anxiety, and I’m not coping well. I’d love to report that I’m eating healthy foods, walking outside in the big world, reading lovely books, and praying whispered words, but I’m not really doing any of those things. No, I’m watching copious amounts of “The Great British Baking Show”, eating loads of sugar and hardly anything else, moaning a lot, staring into space, checking my email every five seconds, being inarticulate, wasting time, meeting God with silence.

The funny thing about trying to cope with anxiety is the fact that when you aren’t coping well and you know you aren’t coping well it just makes you more anxious! I’m anxious about my anxiety! Piles of anxiety (like all the books I should be reading but aren’t) are sitting on my stomach and chest pressing me into my bed bidding me watch more, more, more television to drown out thoughts. I know that this is a season, it’s situational, it won’t last forever, but I’m sad at my lack of wherewithal to pull myself up by my bootstraps and eat some vegetables so I don’t waste away. I’m not being creative, I’m not being courageous, I’m not being kind. I’m sort of failing right now. I know I’m capable of doing good things, pulling myself up, it’s happened before, but I’m feeling a bit teenager-ish in that I don’tΒ want to be better right now this second. No, I don’t really at all. Instead, I want to wallow in my feelings.

So I am. This is how it really is right now, and I’m glad to tell you about it. My room isn’t tidy, my stomach isn’t full, I know I haven’t taken good care of anyone I’ve come in contact with today, and my thoughts run in stressful circles of “not doing well not doing well not doing well.” This is a part of being twenty-two and quite small and often scared. Some weeks just aren’t strong ones, smart ones, careful ones, creative ones, courageous ones and I hope that’s okay. “The Great British Baking Show” really is comforting when comfort is what is needed. I’m wallowing right now as February flips to March and the plants on my windowsill crane their necks for sun. Not forever. Just for now.