My anxiety kicked my ass last week and left me in a puddle of depression. My face was showing stress like war paint- breaking out across my forehead and cheeks in ugly blotchy patches.
But it got better- it always does. I slowly unpacked boxes and organized their contents. I eventually made it out of the house (apartment) and into the city, where I bought a bag of lemons.
I spent two hours on Friday evening making lemonade. I stood at our tiny counter, slicing lemons in half and squeezing them dry. When I was done, I cracked some ice out of the tray, put it in one of our new glasses, filled it with fresh lemonade, and handed it to my husband. Handing that glass off was like ending the war in my head. I've won this round.
I never knew making lemonade could be so therapeutic.