I have learned to put things in the oven.
I don’t take thing out. And it’s usually not heavy stuff.
But for someone who was scared of the oven, that’s progress.
Not scared exactly.
It’s hard to explain.
I was freaked by idea that I’d burn myself and not feel anything until too late.
Or that I’d get my legs stuck in the door and not be able to get loose.
The oven wasn’t my favorite thing.
I faced it with dread.
Then one evening I made up my mind.
I put my chair in place.
I locked the brakes.
I opened the door.
It was overwhelming. It was stifling. I felt it where I felt nothing. At least, I thought I did.
I shoved the cooking tray on the rack.
Reaching down, I shut the door.
I unlocked the brakes on my chair.
A push of my foot sent me rolling away.
I wiped the nervous sweat away.
It was done.