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Shower Water.

9:30p: “Thank you for your interest in this position. After carefully reviewing your resume, we regret to inform you that we have decided to pursue other candidates whose qualifications more closely match at this time.”


Why does it feel like wherever pain goes, rain follows? 


The sound of the rain against my bedroom window gave me the push I needed to retreat to my happy place. 


It’d have been easier to sit idly and pick at all my flaws in attempts of understanding why they couldn’t see the value in me, but instead I stand here blankly staring at the reflection of the tired woman in the mirror. As each piece of clothing fell to the floor, I felt my emotions tiptoeing the verge of a Tonga like eruption. Stepping inside, I released the feelings of defeat as the water fell against my caramel skin. 


This hot water against my face is so refreshing. There’s something about the way the water erases my tears that’s more soothing than I can fully explain. Sometimes the waves of emotion are uncontrollable. Sometimes the visible signs of the pressure greater than that of the Mariana Trench fail to slip down my cheeks at all. In these moments, I just stare into the abyss of my thoughts hoping to escape, even if for a moment, to a happier place far away from here.

The pitter patter of little feet across the bathroom floor heard through the shower curtain broke my two second daydream.


“Mommy… Mommy… Can I have a juice?” to which I respond, “why are you out of bed??” My “me time” must be nearing an end.


Most moms understand the unspoken sanctity of the bathroom without much explanation.


There’s something so serene about the sounds of the water. All water. Rainwater, the dishwasher water, the shower water, the washing machine water, doesn’t matter really. In my adult life, I find that I’m often hypnotized instantly by the sound itself coupled with the calm it provides.


 This tiny sacred space is my fortress providing the warmth that surrounds me when life feels like bitter cold. I stand in this shower to reflect after a long day… to cry… to pray… to find my sanity when things around me are in disarray. To some it may sound strange, but in this tiny shower, beneath this falling water, I find God. Somewhere between the sounds of the many droplets hitting the tile, He presents Himself in the only quiet time I experience throughout the day. 


A loud “you’re taking so long in the shower! It’s been 30 minutes!” quickly brings me back to where I am physically in this moment. 30 minutes doesn’t even feel like a twinkle in time compared to the chaos faced in a single 24-hour period.


The reality that I have to say goodbye to God until tomorrow sets in. I’ll miss these moments dearly. Gently pushing the diverter back into its rightful position, I take my final listen of the water as it reroutes from the shower head above to the faucet below. As always, I turn to say goodnight to the reflection staring back at me of the tired woman in the mirror.


Tomorrow will be better. Until then.



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