An Ordinary Day

On What Calm Feels Like

An Ordinary Day

It began with Mark bringing me tea in bed,
a quiet start, no sharp edges of urgency,
no knot of dread curling in my stomach.
Just warmth. In the tea. In his presence.
In the stillness of the moment.

The day unfolded gently.

Together, we tackled chores,
tasks that usually loom like shadows,
their weight pressing down
until they force me into motion.

But not today.

Today, there was rhythm.
A sense of partnership.
Snippets of speech.
Moments of silence.

No guilt for what I hadn’t done.
No fear of what might come next.
Just the quiet satisfaction
of crossing things off.

Motivation felt natural.
Energy came without cost.
Like breathing.
Effortless. Enough.

In the afternoon, we walked.

The air was crisp. The path familiar.
We went to the beach,
wind catching at our coats,
shingle slipping underfoot.

The sea stretched to the horizon
and I felt as if I were standing
at the edge of something open.

The world felt larger.
Welcoming.

There was no need to guard against shadows.
No bracing for unseen danger.
No rehearsing conversations in my head.
No scanning for threat.

My mind was not crowded with echoes.
It was simply here.

Here, walking beside him.

Evening brought the luxury of a takeaway,
a film,
a small indulgence that felt like a gift.

We ate. We watched. We laughed.

No spiralling thoughts intruded.
No shame seeped in.
No part of me pulled away or hid.

The film ended.
The day felt complete.

It was an ordinary day.
Tea and chores.
A walk.
A meal.
A movie.

Nothing extraordinary.

But in my world,
it was.

Because there was no anxiety clinging to the edges.
No guilt dragging me backwards.
No fear pulling me forward.

No rumination tangling my thoughts.
No need to distract from pain.
No battle raging inside me.
No fragments of myself at war.

Just one day.
Whole.
Quiet.
Enough.

Ordinary, yes.

But for me,
ordinary
is extraordinary.