Grey skies, reading too many rants on social media, and just general blahness has been bringing me down. I’ve been craving cozy comfort and find a little voice inside my head making fun of me for it. Dreaming of pumpkin spice lattes, silly romcoms and all the scented candles has been dismissed as the epitome of girly and thus uncool or uncultured.

I’ve been so happy to be coved in a huge duvet, humidifier blasting with lovely scents, and feeling soothed by Abbott Elementary.

I’ve been needing soothing.

The trauma of a pandemic lingers, the beginnings of a Winnipeg Winter chills, activism can feel crushing and yet I feel like cozy isn’t real self-care. The perfectionist, systems of violence voice nags I should be more productive, angrier, and more filled with rants…but I don’t want to.

I, yet again, publicly am giving myself permission to take a break. I don’t have to care every minute of every day… my brain can’t handle it. I can handle bonfires, flannel, Halloween excitement, baths, romcoms and scary movies. Right now, I am taking a queue from the season and slowing down.