Thistle calling

This morning was supposed to be ordinary — a couple of hours of tennis, fresh air, and the illusion of control. Instead, it turned into emotional dodgeball.

Ember wasn’t there; she’s in hospital for tests. Few people know what she’s facing, and she’s chosen privacy for now. I respect that. I’ve been thinking of her constantly, that quiet strength she carries, the mix of humour and bravery that makes her, well, Ember.

But when I arrived, there was Thistle.
Thistle, who never just says hello.
Thistle, who opens every conversation with her own problems and forgets to breathe before listing them.
Thistle, who somehow manages to turn any moment into her stage.

Today it was her dog — cancer, again, apparently. And there I was, pinned between sympathy and fatigue, listening and nodding, my own emotions about Ember simmering quietly beneath the surface. I gave the obligatory hug, offered kind words, and stepped onto court wishing I could just play without having to perform.

But the universe wasn’t done testing me. A stray shot, a swear word (“oh bollocks!”), and Thistle chirped, “I shouldn’t have taught you that English word!”
And that was the moment I felt my patience unravel. I wanted to shout, you didn’t teach me English, I did that myself! But I didn’t. I breathed. I smiled. I swallowed the fury and played on.

Then, of course, she tried to schedule another “catch-up.” So I made my escape — a strategic retreat five minutes before the end. “I’ll call you then!” she shouted across two courts.
I won’t answer, my brain whispered.

By the time I got home, I was knotted with frustration. Between work demands, Ember’s news, the endless juggling act of family, house, and self — I felt completely wrung out.

Then my husband — bless him — showed me a litter of fox-red lab puppies and asked, “If you’re happy, I’ll message them now. It’s a three-hour drive… but tomorrow is Saturday.”
And just like that, the heaviness cracked a little.

Later, after dinner, I picked up my phone and did one small thing for myself.
Contact renamed. Photo changed.

Thistle 🌵 now lives in my phone where she belongs — among the succulents: hardy, a little prickly, best admired from a distance.

It made me laugh, which was the first good sound to come out of this day.
Sometimes self-care isn’t a bubble bath or herbal tea.
Sometimes it’s a quiet renaming — a reclaiming of peace, one tap at a time.