I forgot my own cup of tea three times while helping everyone else

Dear Delyara, Made it. Left it on the counter. Found it cold. Reheated it. Left it again. Found it lukewarm. Topped it up. Then finally drank it half-standing in the kitchen while somebody asked me where the tape was and somebody else wanted to know if their shirt was dry. It would be funny if it didn’t feel so familiar. I think there are days where my own needs exist in the house only as interruptions between everyone else’s. Not because my family is cruel. Because family life pulls strongest toward urgency, and my tea is never the urgent thing. Still, when I finally drank it, I felt oddly sad. As if the neglected cup had become a little symbol of how often I defer myself in tiny acceptable ways that add up over time.