Go until you break

I have a memory that I'm not sure is real. Back in middle school, I remember reading a short story in class and having to analyze it.

It was basically the story of a pioneer mother who gets bitten by a poisonous snake. She realizes that she is likely to die, so for the rest of the day, she works to set her kids up with everything they need.

She chops firewood, harvests things, and does a bunch of other outdoorsy, frontier stuff that my brain didn't retain. But she works so hard, she literally sweats the venom out of her system and survives.

I have forgotten many of the details, but the vibe has remained. You can survive if you make yourself ridiculously busy. That working hard can fix things that are seemingly out of your control.

Both of my parents worked incredibly hard. Work/life balance was not a concept that was on their schedule.

I haven't found this story, but I also haven't looked. I figure the reality would ruin the memory. Perhaps.

It's been a core memory, which is a new concept for me.

But this memory has likely had an overly powerful influence in my life. I'm not sure if it's due to my upbringing, social pressure, or just my own quirks, but I have believed this vague concept way more than I probably should.

Today I finally broke. I cried. Some muscles actually unclenched. I've been trying to work through it. Take on more and more so eventually my body just sweats out the pain, the emotion, the “poison”.

I finally slept in a way that felt restful. It was just a couple of hours. But some muscles relaxed.

I finally cried. It took some dumb Instagram reels and getting in my feels. But it felt good. It was needed. There was the issue of what made me cry, which sent other chaos plates spinning. But the release, the outlet, was good.

I've been waiting for a break for two weeks. I've been holding it together at work, at several workplaces. I've been making good proactive steps professionally. I have been absolutely in emotional chaos and yet holding it together at work.

This core memory of a story that I might not even remember correctly has been both a blessing and a curse:

I'm not sure if it helped or hurt my functioning this past month. 

But it was there. And oddly sticks with me.