Page 22 of Hidden & Held

After I skim over the details about Jackson and our secret relationship, my body finally gives out. Overnight bags crowd the front entry, oversized sweatshirts and skincare totes spilling out across my hardwood floors. It was still early and a weeknight, but the girls showed up, ready to change into their pajamas.

“We are not leaving you alone tonight; we are overdue for a slumber party,” Becca says matter-of-factly.

Mack looks at me and must see the exhaustion on my face. “A glass of water, two Advil for the tension headache, and a sleep meditation.”

“Just what the nurse ordered, huh?” I go for teasing, but even I can hear the strain in my voice. I push down the thought of using my peppermint roller to help ease the pain in my temples.

Nessa walks in from the kitchen, saying, “Here.” She hands me a cup of tea. “It’s chamomile with a dash of lavender, which helps with the nervous system crash.”

I grab it with a quiet “thanks” and look at them all. These women who dropped everything for me, I don’t have the words. I open my mouth to speak, but Becca holds up a hand.

“No, don’t even think about thanking us. Go to bed, the world will look different in the morning.”

I smile, a sad but real one. With no energy to argue, I turn around and head upstairs for bed.

The bathroom light is too bright against the pounding pain in my head. As I wash my face, I catch sight of the toothbrush I got for Jackson, sitting there as if it belongs in my space. I grab it before I can think better of it. I dip it in the toilet, give it a good scrub, then throw it in the trash. It’s petty, but I hope he felt that somewhere.

I finish up in the bathroom before heading back into my room, finding my phone and opening the meditation app that was prescribed to me. I set it on the bedside table, the sound of waves crashing against the shore filling the room as I slide under the covers. I lie there, sure I won’t be able to sleep as I match each exhale to the rushing of the waves. But sleep drags me under within minutes, my body clearly too exhausted from the emotional toll of the day.

Pale morning light spills across the ceiling as I wake up and realize I’ve slept past my alarm. My mind immediately starts running through all that needs to get done today: the cases, motions, my billables, what my calendar looks like … and then the realization of yesterday sinks in. I didn’t set my alarm; I didn’t need to. No, there is no work today, and still too many decisions to make.

It should feel peaceful without a to-do list to tackle; instead, I am disoriented, paralyzed by my next step. I count backward from five and decide coffee is the first move. My hands are slightly unsteady as I grab the railing to walk downstairs, and I realize for the first time that this is normal for me. It’s not from emotion but from depletion. Not from a lack of sleep but from running on stress and caffeine longer than I want to admit.

Bacon crackles on the stove while Mack moves around the kitchen with clinical efficiency. Eggs are already cooked and coffee is freshly brewed. She glances up at me and sees the slight shake I’m trying to hide. She notices every physical sign from us as our resident medical expert; it’s annoyingly helpful.

She nods to the table, order clear: sit. She sets a cup of coffee down and a glass of water. Sitting across from me, she makes eye contact. Observing, not diagnosing. “When did you last feel rested? Energized? And no, coffee does not count as your source of energy.”

My first instinct is to deflect, make a joke. But as I think about it, I can’t fully remember. There were moments, snippets of peace, but I push those thoughts away; I won’t be getting those with him anymore.

Again, I can’t answer, but she continues on, “What about the last meal that you ate. One not at your desk, or standing over a sink to eat? Last night doesn’t count.” I think of the meal Jackson left for me and squeeze my eyes shut to forget it.

Mack reaches over, puts her hand on my arm, and gently squeezes. “Phi, when was the last time you did something that had no productive outcome?”

Mack stands up and heads back into the kitchen, making me a plate of food and setting it down in front of me. I begin to eat automatically.

“Phoenix, I think you are experiencing severe burnout. This is not a weakness. It is a physiological state: your nervous system has been chronically activated for so long that it has stopped regulating itself. The crash from this is real. You might experience cognitive fog, feeling that nothing you accomplish matters; these are symptoms, not character flaws.”

My first instinct is to argue. Relay that I’m functioning and have always functioned this way. Instead, I eat methodically, absorbing her words that I don’t have the bandwidth to fully process. Mack seems to recognize this, stepping away to give me space.

Becca comes in from outside and sees me. She’s fully dressed in light gray slacks and a blue blouse, camera in hand.

“Good, you’re up. I’m going to finish up in the bedroom and bathroom upstairs, and I will be done.”

What is she talking about?

“Eat,” Mack demands before I can ask. As I finish my breakfast, Nessa rolls in, placing a clear crystal on the windowsill.

“There, clear quartz is for clarity. I already placed rose quartz in the living room for emotional support.” She pauses for a beat, then makes eye contact with me. “Don’t move them; they’re doing something for you and this space.”

“Understood,” I say, not wanting to bring Nessa’s wrath upon me.

Becca walks back in, flipping through the photos on her camera. “Perfect, this will do.”

I stare at her as she sits down. “You took photos of my house without permission,” I say with zero malice.

“No, I took photos of a future rental listing, one I will get up today.”

“Explain,” I say, not feeling the need to soften my tone with Becca.