I love Sunday mornings....yes, I'll admit that I'm spoiled on the Sunday mornings that my mom doesn't work. Much like when I was a child mom gets up and fixes a big breakfast, some habits just don't go away. She always cooks way more than the three of us can eat. This Sunday it is no different, but it is this simple routine that helps me through some of my toughest times. Although I don't have a lot of wonderful memories of my childhood I do have wonderful memories of Sunday mornings.
It has been a rough several days. My mood is still not a stable as I would like and I'm not doing so great with the side effects from the increase of meds. What I can say is that at least my highs are more creative than agitated and that's a good thing. I can handle creative, I don't do agitated well. My depression is still poking it's ugly little head around the corner to see if it can sneak up on me but I refuse to turn my back on it and give it a chance to knock me down. This morning the smell of childhood breakfasts brings comfort into my well being. A familiar reminder of what a mothers love can do.
I am reminded this morning that I have survived this storm before and I will continue to do so. I am still here to enjoy Sunday breakfast and the comfort it brings, now if only everyday could be a Sunday,
but then again maybe not because it might take the special out of it.
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