My mom called me an Iron Lady this week.
I come from a long line of strong Iron Ladies — not by choice, but by necessity and circumstance.
It’s been a tough week: an ER visit, a mountain of doctor’s appointments and medical procedures, all while still working and trying desperately to manage everything else around me.
Restful sleep? Not an option. I woke up every hour to make sure my other half was okay.
The house looks like Pompeii — everything is exactly the way it was when I got the call that he was taken to the emergency room. Frozen in place: the dishes, the kitchen counter, and most of the house.
I’ve been functioning on a need-only basis, literally running on fumes.
And today, it finally hit me: I’m tired. I’m exhausted — physically and emotionally.
I told my mom, “Even iron corrodes and breaks. Sure, it’s strong, but it doesn’t have limitless power.”
I also joked, “I probably need some WD-40 at this point,” and she laughed.
But truthfully?
I don’t want to be an Iron Lady.
I want to cry. I want to scream. I want to be angry.
But I can’t.
At least, not right now.
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