I realized something, as I was recovering the Men's Shoe department at work (which is a huge pain in the ass, by the way): I realized that I am really proud of myself. I was proud of the work I was doing at that moment, as I glanced back down the row (giant shoes all facing forward, toes lined up with the shelf, laces tucked in neatly) but I was also proud of myself for being at work at all. For having gone out and found a job, and then showing up for it each day...
I get dressed every morning. I eat (mostly) healthy food. I shower. I excercise at least three times a week. I take care of myself. I take care of myself even though I was trained not to. I take care of myself even though, given the prior circumstances, there's not much reason to think I shouldn't be a blubbering mess every day for maybe the rest of my life. I kind of earned that. But it wouldn't make me happy.
I don't like going to work, really. But it does make me happy. They want to promote me already, because I am awesome. Well, because I work hard. But probably also because I am awesome.
I guess I just realized for myself (even though I've been told by several people before) that I am doing really well. Despite emotional days -- and sometimes nights -- despite all the grieving and growing left to do, I am doing really well.
Good job, me!