The good days
(If you’ve been in a relationship that’s ended, I think you’ll relate.)
The bad days are. They just are. My head circled with adjectives and metaphors, but no singular word suffices. No one word can describe the bad days.
Bad days are barely opening your eyes when your stomach is already in knots and your head’s a fog. Just let me stay in today, please. But you have responsibilities (And we’re serious about our responsibilities around here).
You will yourself out of bed and remind yourself: you got this. But even brushing your teeth takes all your energy. You’ve got to “got this.” You have meetings to show up for, students to teach and a life to live.
The bad days are remembering you’re the one who pushed the domino that prompted this avalanche. You tell yourself it’s what you deserve, even though you know better. You tried to stop the avalanche, even if you weren’t sure it was the right move. It felt wrong for every piece you’d carefully and lovingly placed for the last two (almost three) years to come crashing down.
But too little, too late. Before you could do anything about it, it had come crashing down. You’d try to imagine it hadn’t. But you’d also remember you were the one who pushed, and despite trying not to, you thought, “it’s what you deserve.” Again.
The bad days are an emotional breakdown — a panic attack — in the middle of the night. It’s imagining them with another person: someone who’d be willing to stay, someone who wasn’t a risk, someone who was prettier (always prettier). You try to meditate. Not working. You toss and turn endlessly. You get up to use the restroom, and sitting on the toilet in the dark, helpless, you pray to God. You look up, empty and defeated, and yell, because you just.need.to.sleep. Please. You move from the bed to your couch, anything that might help. Please. You count how many hours are left until you have to show up at your meeting: 6. But you still can’t fall asleep. Please. Please. With barely three hours of rest, you show up to work the next day.
Those are the bad days.
But then there are the good days. The good days aren’t easy. (They’d be easier if you weren’t alone, but you are.) The good days require intention and effort, grace and compassion. The good days aren’t distractions. Frankly, it’s sometimes hard to tell the difference. What’s even the difference if you’re at least pushing forward? You might be right.

But good days — the real good days — are an adventure. They’re rediscovering what it means to be whole all by yourself.
They’re today. Waking up, getting dressed and indulging in a guava croissant at a local coffee shop. Grading papers, so you don’t fall too far behind. Packing a book and driving 20 minutes to a park downtown, by yourself, to grab a beer. Living and feeling and breathing and remembering it’s okay to do it all on your own. It’s okay to be alone. You’re relearning. Questioning whether to write all this. Wondering who will care, then putting yourself first. Drafting sentences in your mind on your drive home. Unlocking your door, opening your laptop, pouring so much your fingers can’t keep up.
You still cried today. You still scolded yourself for crying, then scolded yourself for scolding yourself. Sigh. And you’ll probably cry again.
You may not have stopped the dominos from crashing down, but you get to prop the next one up. It’s a little shaky right now. That’s okay. Wait. Feel. Breathe. Maybe tomorrow.
