Spring
Day 124 – March 27, 2026
Spring is here, allegedly.
And yet my body is still acting like it would like written confirmation, two references, and perhaps a sworn statement before fully relaxing into that reality.
Very on brand.
Because that’s the thing no one tells you about healing. Even good changes can feel suspicious at first. More light. More warmth. More openness. More air in the day. All of it sounds lovely in theory. But when your system has been trained by pain, even softness can feel like a trick if it arrives too suddenly.
So today had that strange split in it.
On one hand, the season is clearly shifting. The light is different. The air has started flirting. The world is putting on lipstick again. Trees are out here acting like they didn’t spend months looking haunted and now suddenly want credit for resilience. Cute.
On the other hand, I can still feel the winter in me in certain places.
Not depression exactly. Not panic. Just residue.
A little extra caution in the bloodstream. A little extra watchfulness in the spine. A little “this is nice, but let’s not get carried away” energy humming under the prettier parts of the day.
Relatable, honestly.
Because I think there’s a version of spring people like to sell that I have absolutely no interest in. The clean reset. The rebirth. The pastel transformation. The idea that you wake up one day and suddenly become the sort of woman who drinks green juice, forgives everyone, and has an uncomplicated relationship to sunlight.
No. That’s not how this works. At least not for me.
My version of spring looks more like this: a woman with sharper instincts, better taste, a still complicated heart, and enough self respect not to call herself broken just because her softness comes with surveillance now.
That feels more honest.
Roger, of course, has accepted spring with the full confidence of a creature who believes every flower, smell, bug, patch of grass, and moving leaf has reappeared specifically for his entertainment.
He is living his truth.
He also tried to eat something outside today that I can only describe as “botanically disrespectful,” so let’s not make him a guru just yet. Still, I admire the enthusiasm.
Maybe that’s what I’m trying to find too. Not innocence, not naivety, not blind trust in the season, but some version of participation. A willingness to meet what’s soft without immediately assuming it’s bait. A willingness to let beauty touch me even if part of me still flinches first.
That’s real spring, maybe.
Not forgetting winter. Not pretending the cold was imaginary. Just letting the body learn that it is allowed to respond to warmth without filing an incident report first.
That takes time. Fine. I’ve got some.
Chaos in one hand. Grace in the other.
And spring, suspicious as ever, trying to win me over one longer day at a time.
