I could tell from the way I shut the cupboard door

Dear Delyara, That I was closer to my limit than I’d been admitting. Not slammed. Just too hard. It’s strange how the body tells on me in these tiny, domestic ways. The sharper movement. The shorter breath. The way sound suddenly feels less controllable. I can go for hours thinking I’m “fine,” and then one cupboard door closes a little too loudly and I realize the nervous system has already filed a complaint. Nothing major happened today. That almost makes it harder. Because if there were a big reason, then the strain would feel justified. Instead it was one of those days made of small abrasions — a hundred little touches on the same emotional surface until the surface stopped feeling protected. The cupboard door knew before I did.