Something Felt Different
My husband came out of the bedroom
and sat down at the table.
His face looked heavy.
Without saying a word,
he took his probiotics,
his homemade yogurt,
an apple,
and the iced Americano
I had brought home for him.
He ate quietly.
Something felt different.
Before I had a single thought,
my body tightened.
Bang.
The front door slammed.
It felt louder
than usual.
He was probably outside,
having a cigarette.
While he was gone,
questions quietly began to appear.
Did something happen yesterday?
His father had told him
not to come after work.
Was something wrong?
Why did he look so serious?
The night before,
he had opened the bedroom door,
picked up his underwear,
and walked away
without even looking at me.
He had also spent
a long time
in the bathroom.
And this morning,
he was eating yogurt again.
Was he not feeling well?
By the time he came back inside,
my mind was already
looking for answers.
Then he came out
after his shower.
His face had completely changed.
He looked at me,
broke into a bright smile,
and said,
“I have lunch plans.
I’ll be home for dinner.”
I laughed.
Nothing had happened.
He had simply been sleepy.
Maybe he just hadn’t
fully woken up yet.
Mid-point
Before my mind filled in the blanks,
my body had already reacted.
Before I Filled In the Blanks
Looking back,
the first thing I noticed
wasn’t my thoughts.
It was the tension
in my body.
The questions came afterward.
Only later
did my mind begin
to make sense of
what my body
had already noticed.
These days,
I catch that moment
much sooner.
The Same Thing Happened at the Golf Range
A few days later,
I noticed
the same pattern
at the driving range.
I wasn’t trying
to hit the ball farther.
I was simply practicing
my rhythm.
Then the woman
in the next bay
started swinging
with all her strength.
After almost every shot,
she muttered a small curse.
Without realizing it,
I started swinging harder too.
My tempo became faster.
My shoulders tightened.
Then I remembered
something my golf coach had once said.
“You’re not trying to hit it hard.
You’re here to practice.”
I smiled.
I slowed down.
I softened my grip.
One breath.
One swing.
My rhythm returned.
Now I Know the Difference
Later that morning,
my daughter said,
“I don’t think
Dad expresses himself very well.
I think
he just keeps things inside.”
She might be right.
Years ago,
that kind of morning
would have sent me
straight into the kitchen.
I would have started
making bone broth.
He seemed a little better
after eating it.
For a long time,
I thought
I was simply
taking care of my family.
Looking back,
I think
I was also trying
to make everyone
feel comfortable.
Cooking was
the easiest way
I knew.
It was what I did best.
A pot of bone broth.
A tray of braised short ribs.
Homemade side dishes.
Good food
often softened the mood.
People smiled.
The house felt calmer.
And maybe,
so did I.
Now I know
the difference.
Sometimes,
my family needs food.
Sometimes,
all they need
is a little space.
And sometimes,
the uneasiness
isn’t theirs at all.
It’s mine.
These days,
when I notice
that familiar tightness,
I don’t head
straight for the kitchen.
I wait.
Sometimes,
a few minutes
is all it takes.
The heavy face disappears.
The bright smile returns.
Nothing needed fixing.
My body noticed
something first.
Now,
instead of rushing
to soothe everyone,
I simply notice
what my body
is trying to tell me.
