I had a visitor tonight, stepping through the door, wet through from the drizzle outside. It wasn’t heavy, barely rain at all, but it had been going for hours.

My visitor seemed bowed down by that rain. Is if the water soaking into their clothes, and running rivulets down their ashen skin, was leaden weight rather than liquid.

I offered them a chair near the fire.

As I prepared their tea, I watched a puddle form at their feet. Soon enough, the heat from the flames took effect and my visitor was surrounded by gentle steam. Another visitor told me this isn’t quite normal, but since the norm was apparently soggy clothing, they sounded relieved rather than upset.

This visitor, a woman, barely seemed to notice, as she slumped in the chair, gazing at nothing.

I asked her. “What was it, that has drained you of everything?”

She wrapped her arms around herself, and I wondered where the blanket I kept for visitors had gone. But of course, it was right there, falling off he back of the chair onto those drooping shoulders.

She tugged the warm, soft wool around her. “What drained me? My children. They were my life, my light, my greatest joy, and yet nothing was ever enough. If Maricelle had new shoes, then Johan needed a new coat. If Johan had a new toy horse, then Maricelle needed the beautiful new doll at the centre of the toy shop window.”

Leaning her head against the high back of the chair, she went on. “Even as adults, it didn’t stop. Their weddings, their new homes, their outfits for special events, and then those for their spouses and children too.”

“I know it was my fault.” Now she was watching the fire, the dancing flames seeming to soothe her. “I heard it all the time, behind my back and sometimes even to my face. I spoiled them, always gave into them, never taught them to respect, or even see, me. I was just a never-ending flow of gifts and money.”

I said nothing, just nodded sympathetically. My gumboot tea, nearly ready to pour, was exactly the balm this weary soul needed.

She nodded off for a moment, and I was tempted to let her be, but my tea cannot be wasted. She woke as I set the mug on the table beside her chair and stared at the steaming tea in bemusement.

“No one’s ever made me a cup of tea before. I’ve always been the one to serve others.” She wrapped both hands around the mug and held it for a moment before taking a sip.

The heaviness around her seemed to slide off. Slowly. Like layers. Joining the evaporating puddle of water on the floor. After the second sip, a smile, small and uncertain, tipped up the edges of her lips and she sighed.

This time I asked. “If you’re able to choose, in whatever comes next, what would you like to do?”

Her smile deepened as she considered my question. “I’d like to be selfish.”

Another sip, her shoulders settling straighter. “I don’t mean I’d be nasty, but I wouldn’t share what I fairly earned. I’d steer clear of obligations to others, and build a space and a life devoted to my own comfort.”

She finished her tea and set the mug back on the table, then stood. She went to shed the blanket and I shook my head. “Keep it. A gift for your comfort through the next part of your journey.”

I had another blanket, or even several, in a chest somewhere. I was sure of it.

This time her smile was radiant. She bowed her head to me, then left the shop, placing her payment – a bundle of dried sage – on the counter as she passed.

I hope she has time for self-care and healing. It makes a small ache in my heart ease to believe it to be so.