3:26 am

I can't sleep because I know we have until March 6th to find and move into new housing, and Rob goes back into the hospital next week for another round of chemo. I also know that I cannot do any of the tasks I need to complete at 2 am or on the weekend, but my mind cannot settle. I'm trained in crisis intervention and completely aware that my brain has activated a crisis response. My physiological state is reflecting a "fight or flight" mode. Epinephrine and cortisol production has increased to help propel me through disaster mitigation, but it's also taking a toll on my physical health. Stress hormones like cortisol directly impact autoimmune diseases and increase flares, and epinephrine interrupts sleep patterns. It's testing me in every way imaginable. I find one solution, and then a completely different obstacle presents itself, so I'm only reacting at this point. In balance, I am reminding myself to practice mindfulness, not to judge myself for circumstances beyond my control, and that I don't have to entertain every person's advice or feedback. I'm also exercising gratitude for the help that has alleviated some strain while still working toward solutions. I know that crisis points occur throughout every person's life, although they happen in varying ways or at different points in life. Ours has occurred by happenstance during our first year of marriage, throughout a global pandemic, with a 6-month-old. I find some strange solace that life events don't discriminate; they just happen. Also, writing helps me sleep because it provides a somatic release to stress and tension. I don't do it for anyone else, and it's only for my benefit.