We think time moves fast. It doesn't—we just lose the capacity to process it.

Home for the holidays. Mom's bipolar has cycled through thirty years of my life. The decade after college was the quiet window. I thought we'd earned some peace.
At sixty, the brain can't buffer what it used to. I watch her struggle and feel two things at once: grief and rage. Neither helps.
I've rationalized this for years. COVID broke something. Last year I bottomed out harder than I wanted to admit.
You think acceptance comes with age. It doesn't. You just get different at carrying the weight.
How do you hold yours?