I'm hard on myself or so people tell me. I don't see it - but, apparently, everyone else does.
It's late on a Saturday evening and I'm cuddled up in bed. It's been a day filled with sorrow, and a night filled with me trying to forget. I'm in a better space, I tell myself. Much better than I was three weeks ago - a painful breakup, operation, endometriosis diagnosis and positive Covid test all in the space of two weeks left me feeling emotionally depleted.