Summer of Healing: The Garage Door and Me
Our garage door broke again. I'm not even mad about it anymore. This is the fourth time in eight years, the achilles heel of our house. I grew up without a functional garage, so whenever it breaks I remind myself that having a garage with a working door is an extra tidbit, untethered to happiness. I was kinda proud of my limited reaction to its breaking. I said one small string of curse words then immediately switched into problem-solving mode and cruise-directed our taking turns holding it up for the other to back our cars out - unlike the time where we had to take Ubers to work and back. I think part of me expected it would break. I was significantly less surprised. More surprising was my lack of day-slumping reactive mode. I almost behaved as someone with...maturity. Grace, even. * * * This week marks one year since experiencing my first ever panic attack. It was not because our garage door broke. I used to think panic attacks were a made-up thing for the d