Giving birth was not a transformative experience for me. It was intense, mundane, long, and it sucked. It was fine, and it sucked, which was exactly the goal I told my doula I had: I know it may be intense and awful, but I want it to be okay, too. What was transformative, though, was being cared for by a doula. Being, is it a verb, doula’d? (I know it’s not, if you consider the etymology of the word, just go with me.) Last week, I wrote a newsletter about the peculiarly specific way I’ve been miserable lately: fine, but exhausted, but okay, but miserable; primarily: disconnected from any sense of creative spark, specifically about projects that felt very sparky before I had covid in December. Some of you thought I might be depressed. Maybe! Some of you reminded me that increases in depression can be a sort of covid echo-symptom. Also true! But something mundane and remarkable happened: complaining about it made me feel better.
Doula'd
Doula'd
Doula'd
Giving birth was not a transformative experience for me. It was intense, mundane, long, and it sucked. It was fine, and it sucked, which was exactly the goal I told my doula I had: I know it may be intense and awful, but I want it to be okay, too. What was transformative, though, was being cared for by a doula. Being, is it a verb, doula’d? (I know it’s not, if you consider the etymology of the word, just go with me.) Last week, I wrote a newsletter about the peculiarly specific way I’ve been miserable lately: fine, but exhausted, but okay, but miserable; primarily: disconnected from any sense of creative spark, specifically about projects that felt very sparky before I had covid in December. Some of you thought I might be depressed. Maybe! Some of you reminded me that increases in depression can be a sort of covid echo-symptom. Also true! But something mundane and remarkable happened: complaining about it made me feel better.