My children act like anything, including dying an excruciatingly horrific death is preferable to everyday boring tasks.
But when life gets really rotten, there's nothing like a stupid chore I've done a million times to keep me going. There is comfort in doing these things.
I know in fiction it's popular to illustrate the trauma people are going through by having them vomit or go into shock or a catatonic state or some metaphoric flight of fancy in an effort to show the depth of their pain.
I'm not saying those are not legitimate reactions to traumatic events, but I am saying I'm feeling under-represented. What about those of us who keep going no matter what because we don't know how to not go on?
What about the Samwise Gamgees in life that move forward one step at a time by doing simple everyday tasks? In doing the small, the insurmountable becomes possible.
We're fully aware that these little jobs won't save the world. We know they aren't going to fix anything, but they are baby steps toward action, toward doing something that will make a difference.
They are positive action rather than negative no matter how small they are.
In the midst of crisis and trauma and pain we must continue to move forward however small that movement might be. The mountain of hurt must be climbed and gotten over but the beginning steps are small and almost insignificant.
We are not able to laugh yet. We are in deeper depths of sorrow than we are able to express, but we move forward doing tiny things because that's all we can manage, but we do something.
We do what is neccesary. We are the Elinor Dashwoods. We are the Melanie Hamiltons. We are the Matthew Cuthberts.
Staring at walls and withdrawing within ourselves and ignoring a world that keeps turning is not our option. It's not what we're made of.
We are just as real and just as hurt as those who can't find it in themselves to go on. But whether it is a blessing or a curse, go on we must.
