If I lapse, the anxiety spiral is immediate and horrendous. I am glad to have stepped off the rollercoaster
I hate to come over all Mark Zuckerberg so early on in proceedings (although I am available to battle Elon Musk, should anybody call on my services), but I don’t drink caffeine.
In fact, I haven’t really drunk caffeine since I got pregnant with my son (who can now ride a bike and spell “sprightly”; this is apparently how I measure the passing of time). For more than seven years, I have survived on rooibos tea, decaffeinated coffee and the occasional plunge into something herbal. I do also drink decaf tea – and it has improved a lot from the grey, slightly-tuna-smelling variation my poor mother was forced to drink in the 1990s when her menopause hit early and all hope of sleep disappeared like smoke.
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