I don’t want to bake banana bread

I started off well. Really well.
I was going for runs, doing online yoga and managed to buy all the gym equipment I needed, weeks before people started making panicked trips to Kmart.

‘You just have to roll with it, this is a period for reinvention’, I smugly told people at my family’s cafe, relishing in the opportunity to connect and positively uplift the local community.

What a good doer, I had this shit in the bag. I was going to emerge from this whole situation, unscathed by the time my 30th rolled around in July, and perhaps with a 6 pack in tow. I was going to bathe in spirituality, and perhaps find my life’s purpose that had been absent for the last 10 years.

Two weeks has since passed. My hair hasn’t been washed in days and uber eats bags are crumpled on the floor.

I don’t want to go for a run anymore. My favourite park has ironically become to crowded and I’m quite frankly annoyed at everyones sudden enthusiasm to take up space where i once found solace.

Meditation has been replace by YouTube videos of girls younger than me documenting their time in ‘iso’, answering peoples assumptions about them. But I can’t stop watching, the rabbit hole is too deep.

Oh and I’ve started binge eating again, which is fun too.

Suddenly, I hate the idea of small talk. I’m tired of customers asking how I am, how we are, even though I know they do really mean well. And I hate that I hate this now.

I want to tell everyone on social media to just please STFU and stop acting like they are doing everyone a huge favour by narrating our experience of this situation, as though it was as simple as mindfully navigating our way through.

I’m really tired of thinking I’m Chrissy Teigen and baking stuff to post on IG, because it just highlights all the things that I’ve been avoiding. All of the stuff that has come to the surface that I don’t want to deal with. But I know I have to.

I have to be nicer to myself, so I can maybe be nicer to those around me, even Jenny with her skinny flat white. 

I want to pick up the books I’ve abandoned on my shelf, and maybe find a different park to just walk slowly around.

This whole thing can’t be measured or responded to properly, and perhaps it was my own naivety that led me to believe it was just as easy as having a solid morning routine.

It’s not easy right now, it’s difficult and unsettling and if you feel the same way I do, know that it’s ok.

You’re perfectly ok, even if the only thing you do today is wake up and thinking about baking another loaf of fucking banana bread.