Taking time

When I first started school, sitting on the mat after lunch, I remember being positively shocked – insulted! – when the teacher said it was nap-time for us all.

I hadn’t taken an afternoon nap in years. Indignant! I wasn’t a baby any more.

I declined the invitation and elected to read a book quietly. I did not want or need a nap. I was fine. Reading was an acceptable compromise for my teacher and for me.

I still hate naps. But an an adult, I’m learning that I do need downtime, and I’m gaining more appreciation for mum’s tactics with toddler-me: her child overtired & grumpy but mind too restless to sleep, she took quite a bit of effort training me to sit and read and be.
I still get grumpy and restless. I still need time to sit quietly, by myself, wrapped in blankets or curled in a chair. I’m learning I can’t push through a whole day non-stop or it’ll come out in the end, in a moment I won’t be proud of. I need to take time.

I’ll be back in twenty minutes, I tell my partner. I’m going to lie down.