Making the Bed by Soulez

As I made my bed this morning, always right after rising, I realize, the very importance of this ritual of mine. Beginning somewhere in my sixth year of life, my sister and I decided to make our own beds to surprise mom who loved the surprise. She also let us know that making the beds could now be something we could do everyday, and so from that point on it was done each and every morning.

It signifies the start of my day followed by dressing, then walking the dog, tea, a bite to eat, and living the day. Takes just moments, but means more than a moment ever held. No matter how good or bad or ugly I am feeling, it gets done.

It’s importance to my very being was realized not so long ago. It is what kept me from the deep end of a three year depression (something I recognized, but for which I sought no help-not advising-just what i didn’t do). As long as I made my bed and walked the dog I can survive this, I told myself. Working was added after a short leave, but all the time in between was wasted, never to be recovered. The ritual remained and wellness slowly regained.

Just as important as making the bed at the start of my day is the unmaking at its end. How does one know the end of each day, when retiring to an unmade bed? Pulling down the covers, is closure to my day, the ending to the beginning, a way to count the day as done, a fresh start for sleep, knowing a new one begins once again when I make the bed.

Originally published at cowbird.com.