Mummyfried

There’s a particular kind of tired that doesn’t come from lack of sleep. It comes from pretending. From swallowing words you don’t mean, smiling when your stomach is doing cartwheels, and nodding along to things your soul already filed under “nope.” And honestly? I’m over it. I want my life to feel like mine again. So I am taking action because it’s a fundamental human right to. My plan? A few simple steps. Step 1. I am lifting my vibration. Yes, candles are lovely. Yes, crystals are shiny, but they make me feel like a magpie with spiritual ambitions. But vibration isn’t about aesthetics — it’s about what I am carrying. My vibe lifts when: I stop dragging guilt like an IKEA bag with a broken handle. I stop living in conversations that only exist in my head. I stop shrinking because someone else is loud. High vibration isn’t “I never get sad.” High vibration is: “I get sad, I feel it, I learn, and I don’t build a permanent house there.” Step 2. Positive thinking that w...

I really thought we were Thelma and Louise. Laverne and Shirley. The good cop and the bad cop. Two women, and a decade of firsts after a lot of pain. We did the first holidays — the first Christmases, the first New Years. We stood by each other through the deaths of our fathers. We sat in silence at your father’s funeral. I said goodbye to my dad through yours. We survived job pressures, kids pushing boundaries. I taught your child to swim. You took mine to her first disco when I was stuck at work. We laughed. We argued. You helped me when I was sick. I helped you when you were sad. I truly believed this was for life. But you found a reason to break away first. Accused me of excluding your child when I never did — a projection of what you had already done to mine. Because the truth is, your betrayal was great. My child lost an opportunity because you weren’t honest, because you had your own plans. I have since cut the chord. I visualized it snapping, disintegrating. I mourn what could ...