I stood in the doorway of the kitchen and could not make myself re-enter it

Dear Delyara, It was after dinner. The plates were still there, the counters needed wiping, and the lunchboxes were waiting for tomorrow. Nothing in that room was dramatic. Everything in it needed me. I think that was the problem. I stood in the doorway and felt a kind of internal resistance that had nothing to do with laziness and everything to do with saturation. My body simply didn’t want to go back into the room where so much of the day’s service had already happened. Eventually I did. But the pause told the truth before I was willing to say it: I was not refusing the kitchen. I was refusing one more round of being endlessly available.