“So,” she says gently, “in a short space of time you’ve stopped doing the job that shaped your routine, the dating pattern that worked for you no longer does, and you’re facing a future that comes with real responsibility and emotional weight.”
When she puts it like that, it sounds less like bad luck and more like my nervous system waving a white flag.
“Yes,” I say. “That does sound… busy.”
“And, in all of that,” she continues, “you’re expecting your body to respond the way it always has.”
I frown. “Isn’t that reasonable?”
“It’s understandable,” she says. “But bodies are excellent at noticing when something matters.”
I stare at the rug again.
“So my body’s panicking,” I say.
She smiles softly. “Your body’s pausing.”
Pause. Again.
I lean back and this time I let myself stay there.
“That feels… inconvenient,” I say.
“Most growth is,” she replies.
I huff a laugh. It comes out tired.
“So how do I fix it?” I ask. “Because I’m very good at fixing things. Give me a problem, I’ll research it, optimise it, get it back to working order.”
Her expression sharpens.
“That’s useful information already,” she says. “Because this isn’t a mechanical issue. If it were, you’d have solved it by now.”
I grimace. “That sounds suspiciously like bad news.”
“It’s not bad news,” she says. “It just means the solution isn’t something you can tighten, replace, or upgrade.”
I drag a hand over my face. “So no quick win.”
“No quick win,” she agrees. “But a very human one.”
She shifts slightly in her chair, settling in rather than wrapping up, and that alone makes something unclench in my chest.
“When something stops responding like it used to,” she continues, “I’m interested in what else has changed around it. Not just externally, but internally. You’ve told me about work, about dating, about this pregnancy. What I’m curious about now is how all of that sits with you.”
I open my mouth, close it again.
“That noise,” she says mildly. “That was a thought you didn’t finish.”
I snort. “I do that a lot.”
“I’ve noticed,” she says, unapologetic. “Try finishing it.”
I sigh. “I don’t like being behind.”
“Behind what?” she asks.
I hesitate. There it is again. That tightening.
