It just occurred to me that I haven’t panicked about the house. I won’t go back and look for how long, but here I am, whaling away at the painting, thinking about culling, nearly every.single. day. And no panic?
Not that I want to panic mind you, but it’s just really, really weird if you’re me.
Part of this is that I’ve tied it to the living room painting project I think. But part of it seems to be that I may have healed enough?
And of course, the “gotcha” with my PTSD is that having noticed this, and having had the audacity to say it OUT LOUD?
Now I’ll panic!