I grew up in a turbulent household. When things became too much for me to sort out, I used to hide my very little self in the cupboard of the bathroom. Curled up there in the back behind the shampoo bottles, bars of soap and toilet paper, nobody could find me, and I felt like I was removed from the situation enough to think, to breathe a little and to be sure that the thoughts I had were really mine without influence from the pressures of the situation.
I put myself in a metaphorical cupboard last night. I haven't many places I can go to breathe here in Belgium, but there are some I've found, and last night I put myself in one because chez moi, everywhere I looked there were more questions, more doubts, and the inescapable pressure of questions about where all this (my life) is going. All the things at once set before me like an intimidating parfait, and feeling the way I did it was a little much.
There isn't much to do here but think like I used to in the cupboard. And breathe.