I think I’m on attempt number five (six?) for today. When I pictured that just now, The Count from Sesame Street popped into my head, gleefully tallying up my failed starts. That’s about right—my version of writer’s block usually happens when I try too hard to force an idea through. Today is one of those days.

I had high hopes to knock out a couple of tasks that have been floating in the ether for way too long. Instead… nothing. Not because of depression, not because of some huge emotional wall, but because I just plain didn’t want to. Call it laziness. Call it deliberate avoidance. Either way, “avoid” might as well be my middle name.

Even two years out, there’s still a ton to unravel, and I don’t always know how other people manage it. Maybe they’re just better at life than I am.

Decision-Making in a Vacuum

One theory: I went so long without making independent decisions that I still resist doing it now. In marriage, most choices had to be run by him first. Even today, I sometimes hear that voice in my head saying, “He wouldn’t want this.” My response now? I usually do it anyway. Defiance? Impulse? Who knows. It does mean I often wait until “D-day” to finally decide.

Lists, Squirrels, and Distractions

Another theory involves organization—or lack thereof. My skills used to be solid, but memory loss and stress have chipped away at them. What’s his name loved to berate me about not keeping lists. I tried smaller task lists here and there, but never anything formal. Honestly, lists terrify me. They’re just proof of how much isn’t done. And with my squirrel-brain these days, one distraction is all it takes: I set out to clean one room, notice another mess, and boom—new project, old one forgotten.

But here’s the truth: lists are necessary now. Without reminders, I end up unprepared, scrambling at the last minute.

Avoidance as Stress Relief

One of the more troubling things I’ll be bringing up with my therapist this week: my tendency to avoid things that cause stress. It doesn’t feel good to admit, but it’s real. I’ve been through a lot these last two years, and while that’s not an excuse, the overwhelm is real.

Even disability brings its own contradictions. Some days I feel like I’m not disabled at all—until something happens that proves otherwise. The strokes collided with my PTSD in ways I didn’t see coming. If PTSD is about losing control, then strokes are the perfect trigger. That loss of control becomes disabling in itself.

Somewhere Between Guilt and Gratitude

I miss the idea of just packing up, going to work, and pretending life is normal again. But as one nursing instructor of mine put it, “Normal is just a setting on a washing machine.”

Here’s the weirdest part: guilt sneaks in when I say I’m in a better place now. Being on my own has been an adjustment, yes, but also a kind of relief. No more running every decision by someone else. These days I run them by my dog or my mom—and they’re excellent consultants who don’t require approval.

So maybe avoidance isn’t all bad. Sometimes it’s survival. Sometimes it’s just life. And sometimes it’s just The Count in my head, laughing as he ticks off my failed starts: “Ah-ah-ah!”