“And then at night I usually have…”
There it was again. Another toned, beautiful, successful woman detailing her daily routine. It always ended the same way.
“…a cup of tea, or hot water with lemon.”
I picture these women in their perfectly matching, unstained leisurewear (“pajamas”? Ha. As if.), long, slender legs tucked easily under their perky bums, one elbow draped over the arm of a modern yet cozy Pottery Barn sofa.
The 2.5 children and Golden Retriever are nestled in bed, and her tall, square-jawed husband kisses the top of her subtly highlighted head before settling in at the other end of the couch, adjusting the glasses that somehow turn him from Jude Law into even sexier Jude Law.
On a particularly rough day, Tea Lady still pours her herbal tonic, but instead of picking up the latest [insert impressively topical author here], she turns to Jude Law and says,
“Babe, want to watch a rom-com tonight?”
In my mind, these are The Women Who Drink Tea at Night.
Where are all the Women Who Drink (Too Much) Wine at Night? Are they, like me, wise enough to sign off of social media and devote their attention solely to Netflix and the contents of their freezers?
In a year that’s felt like someone took an adult coloring book and started scribbling WAY the hell outside the lines -and not in a cute, “Oh, look how creative Johnny is!” but more, “Oh, f!&#, we’re gonna have to get this kid tested” kind of way- I’ve decided to make 2020’s pit of despair all about me.
As each month passes and some new, unimaginable tragedy strikes, I sink a little deeper into the hungry jaws of helplessness. In the absence of anything certain, my anxiety fills the gaps with Worst Case prophecies. In this dark space of unknowing, my default setting takes over. Self-doubt and her cousin, self-loathing, seep through the walls of my subconscious, doing that thing they do best.
If only I drank Earl Grey at night.
Tea Woman knows what to do. Tea Woman knows how to ward off demons with a good night’s sleep and breakfast smoothies. Tea Woman has all the answers.
If I lost weight. If I started meditating again. If I made another list. If whoever I am now could just become whoever sips tea, these feelings would find their way from “frightening” to “freedom.”
I pour another glass of wine and stare ahead, bleary-eyed. “Captive,” a new Netflix series about hostage victims, flickers onscreen.
I mean… I guess it could be worse.
What has your 2020 coping strategy looked like? More “Long Island Iced Tea” than Celestial Seasonings finest? …No? Just me?