Archives for posts with tag: doing my best
« Older Entries
Newer Entries »

No Words

July 20, 2024 //
0

Well… Not literally “no words”…cuz here I am, eh? Words. I’ve got a fair few of these fuckers (words) laying about. May as well use them…but… This morning I’ve nothing much to say, really.

… I’m tired, and there’s this damned headache and this ringing in my ears…

“Anhedonia”. Now there’s a fucking word. Anhedonia is more or less simply a loss of delight, of interest, of the will to engage with pleasant and interesting things. It’s not “boredom”, and it most definitely is a “mental health issue”. Sometimes it’s simply that circumstances grind me down until I just fucking give up on a “just don’t give a shit” level that transcends even irritation, leaving me without the will to resist or try to overcome it at all. Here I am this morning.

… I’m just that tired, cognitively and emotionally…

Caregiving is hard work, and I’m learning that a great deal of the work involved is in the form of emotional labor. I have profound respect for people who are caregiving a loved one for years. I’ve only been doing it for months. It’s fucking hard, and it’s draining. 8 days until my coastal getaway, and I definitely need it, but… I’ll also need to really get away from the emotional labor of caregiving to get the rest I need so badly. Most of the brief opportunities for downtime since my Traveling Partner’s injury haven’t given me the rest I really needed, because I failed to leave the emotional labor behind, and returned home to still more. I didn’t understand that I needed to put that down, and didn’t understand what a large portion of the caregiving it really is. (I’m pretty new to taking on a caregiving role, and have never had a child.) I failed myself in this way, and by extension ended up also failing my Traveling Partner – in two ways.

1. I failed my Traveling Partner by not taking care of myself sufficiently well to ensure I am up to the challenges and requirements of caregiving over time. It’s an endurance race, not a sprint.

2. I failed my Traveling Partner by not setting clear boundaries with regard to emotional labor generally, or communicating clearly when the burden is too great for my limited human capacity.

I can see how these are both also failures of self-care, too. No wonder I’m fucking exhausted.

This morning I got to the trailhead and just sat in my car weeping quietly for some unmeasured amount of time. I really didn’t feel like walking, at all. Anhedonia is a difficult challenge to overcome, but eventually I got out of the car and trudged down the trail irritably. The rising sun only annoyed me and my sour mood followed me down the trail. I spitefully didn’t stop to sit and write in my preferred location, choosing instead to annoy myself by sitting uncomfortably elsewhere. (Good grief, really?! Fucking stupid.)

I’m sitting. Writing. Feeling irritable because my back aches, my head aches, my tinnitus is loud, and my Traveling Partner is injured. From the perspective of this moment it feels very much that there is “no end in sight”, and despair threatens to rear its head. I sigh deeply, and just let the unwanted tears fall.

This shit is hard.

…It could all be so much worse…

This shit is hard.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Eventually, I even stop crying, and even mostly stop feeling overcome by anhedonia. I clearly need to get some downtime, some relief, a real break… Which makes me feel like an asshole; my Traveling Partner gets no break from being injured and in pain and needing my help. Fuck.

… Did I mention that this shit is hard?

I’m okay for most values of okay. My Traveling Partner is, too. He’s got surgery scheduled. This is, thankfully, a temporary situation, and we’ve got the additional help of the Anxious Adventurer now (which is greatly appreciated and very much needed). I make a point to reset my perspective, my expectations, and my awareness. It’s not helpful to become mired in pain – particularly someone else’s, and especially when I’ve also got to manage my own. It’s hard, sure, but it truly could be worse, and in some respects it isn’t even as bad as it sometimes feels. We’re fortunate: I’m employed, we have health insurance, we’ve got help, and this isn’t a terminal health issue.

If I were better at this caregiving stuff, I might be more easily able to lift my Traveling Partner from his pain-focused funk, when he gets stuck there. I sit with that thought for a few minutes. I think about the many years of therapy and skilled mental health care I’ve been fortunate to receive. I think about mindfulness practices, meditation, and CBT.

… I remind myself that I can’t do the verbs for anyone else, and that we’ve each got to walk our own hard mile…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Sometimes the best thing I can do to care for my partner is to care for myself. I think about the day ahead, and the things I’d like to get done. I think about my partner, and what he may need today, and consider how best to be there for him.

It’s a new day. The sun is warm on my back. I hear voices coming down the trail. It’s time to begin again…

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Allegories, anhedonia, Anxiety, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, grief, health, loneliness, Love, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being

The Great Household Shuffling of 2024

June 29, 2024 //
0

I survived yesterday’s chaos with reasonable grace, I think. I’m okay with the recollection of the day, and the outcomes of various moments. The steady process of handling tasks to do with my Traveling Partner’s son moving in is well-underway, everyone doing their part to get everything done reasonably quickly. It’s a lot to do, and there’s still more. It’ll all get done in due time.

I am finding it quite interesting to see so many things learned over time reflected back at me through the lens of seeing these experiences and practices through observation of someone who has had quite different experiences in life, having not yet learned these things at all. My stepson seems to me a bit of an “anxious adventurer”, willfully and deliberately seeking new experiences and growth, by choice, while also finding the novel situations this puts him in quite uncomfortable and anxiety-provoking. (His results vary.) I’m impressed by his adventurous nature. I’m impressed by his will to fight through his anxiety. I’m concerned by his lack of specific life skills and his lack of exposure to some fundamentals of resilience and emotional wellness. Those concerns are in no way his “fault” and it’s not about blame anyway. He’s a fellow traveler and for the time being, also a family member residing with my partner and me. There’s a lot to learn, to share, to consider…and there’s time for all that. It’s the sort of thing that does take time – and practice.

For my part, the work involved in compressing my personal space to make room for The Anxious Adventurer is sometimes quite poignant. I worked so hard for so long to have some of the luxuries I’ve been able to enjoy these last four years… but my small library uses an entire bedroom (it’s also my meditation space). My art studio, doing double duty as my office, takes another. Somehow, just due to practical logistical considerations, I’ve ended up compressing most of these things into the smallest fucking room in the house. Since it’s not actually possible to do that in a literal sense, the books and shelves of my wee library will be relocated to the main bedroom. It’s fine. It’s all fine. None of this is intended to be permanent (as my Traveling Partner regularly reminds me).

… I do know how reality works, however, and I am familiar with the vagaries of “temporary” arrangements…

A new day

Mostly, I’m just looking forward to whatever the new normal may be, and figuring that out won’t happen until the moving and shuffling around of various things is really finished (likely some weeks after my Traveling Partner has his surgery and has subsequently also recovered).

I woke quite early this morning, ahead of the sunrise entirely. I have a Saturday appointment in the city which I already wish I had cancelled due to the inconvenience of its timing, but it’s an appointment for care with a provider who reliably actually helps. Seems foolish to cancel that, when my day-to-day pain would benefit from it so much. It’s the sort of foolishly short-sighted choice I am prone to make. I’m mostly glad I didn’t cancel, but my anxiety nags at me for “being so selfish” or “letting everyone else down”. (Which is one of the many lies my anxiety tells me.)

… I still find it quite difficult to make my own self-care a high priority, in spite of knowing how important it is…

I slipped quietly out of the house far earlier than necessary, this morning, but I think I managed to do it without waking either my Traveling Partner or the Anxious Adventurer. Win! I arrived at the trailhead just at daybreak. I walked the trail between river and marsh, listening to the birds and the sound of distant traffic (and my tinnitus). It’s been lovely. I had the trail to myself. I took my time. Stopped here and there for a picture or a moment. It’s been quite satisfying and joyful, and a delightful use of my time.

… I needed the break and the solitude…

I got back to the car too early to head to the city. I write a while. I meditate. I think about coffee. Maybe breakfast? In any case, it’s time to begin again.

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Allegories, Anxiety, art and the artist, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being

Breathe

June 23, 2024 //
0

Stress complicates things. Letting it go, when I can, makes sense for a lot of reasons. Ruminating about past events that can’t be changed isn’t very helpful. Worrying about future events that have not occurred is also not helpful. Learning from past mistakes and being prepared for future events or decisions are both excellent strategies, though… Finding balance between the extremes is a worthwhile endeavor.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I purposefully let go of my stress. I make a point of not exploring deeply what may be driving it. Honestly, it’s just too easy to make it much worse by giving my thoughts over to it, so instead I focus on here, now, this moment – a very useful practice.

… And anyway, the things that cause human primates stress are pretty commonplace, aren’t they?

I breathe the scents of summer as I sit at the halfway point of this morning’s walk. The air smells like rain and the sky overhead is obscured by dense clouds, dark and stormy gray to the north and east, and a smooth homogeneous wash of paler gray to the south. The sky was a clear mild blue across the western horizon at daybreak, but now it’s a soft neutral gray, too. I listen to birdsong and the sound of traffic on the nearby highway.

…My mind wanders to my to-do list, and my anxiety surges. I’m reminded that my Traveling Partner’s health challenges are worrisome, and I struggle to calm myself, briefly. Life has some difficult moments. I feel fortunate to share many of those with my Traveling Partner. I breathe, exhale, and relax, again. I allow myself to acknowledge the legitimate stress that results from my partner’s injury last fall, and the challenges of getting him a skilled diagnosis and the care he needs. (He’s right; our system is badly broken and it shouldn’t be this hard.) Another breath, another attempt to let the stress go. It’s not particularly helpful to get wound up and angry, or to become mired in frustration, feeling beat down or hopeless. Perspective can be hard to achieve. I keep at it. Practicing.

…Breathe, exhale, relax…

Sitting here, the tallest meadow grasses obscure me from the trail. I watch the grass sway in the gentle breeze. I enjoy the solitude. My tinnitus is loud in my ears. It vexes me, but I get some sense of relief by turning my attention elsewhere, listening to the sounds around me: distant traffic, chirps and birdsong of the early birds, the sound of rustling leaves. Quiet sounds, but audible when I turn my attention to those.

… Breathe, exhale, relax…

My background stress day-to-day has reached a point where my morning walks fuel just about enough resilience to carry me through the day, but rarely further. Nights are sometimes difficult, restless, wakeful, and full of troubling dreams. This time I take for myself is now pretty necessary, just due to circumstances, instead of being a pleasant luxury. My Traveling Partner sees it too, and frequently encourages me to take care of myself as a priority. The challenge is that the whole messy business has a certain “failure is not an option” feel to it that is a major cause of my stress. Yeah… That’s a thing. I sigh out loud, missing my Dear Friend acutely; I would benefit so much from talking all this over with her!

… Breathe, exhale, relax…

Just moments in a lifetime. This too will pass. Change is.

I brush the bits of leaves from where they’ve clung to my jeans, and stand and stretch. There’s a list of things to do and time is short. I turn to the trail, to head back to the car. It’s already time to begin again.

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Allegories, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, grief, health, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, Summer, The Art of Being

Steps Toward Change

June 19, 2024 //
0

I’m sitting on this rock, alongside the trail. It’s a Wednesday, but I’m off work, which is a nice change. I’m more or less “moved in to” my new phone, but as is often the case with such things (for me), there’s still a lot to do and quite a few small differences to learn. I’m okay with the process and I have my Traveling Partner’s help, and he’s very familiar with this operating system. I like the new phone better than the old one.

… The novelty is probably good for my brain, too…

Yesterday, just about as my energy was running out, my partner asked me gently and encouragingly “what are you going to do to take care of yourself, though?”. It was a good question. My answer was that I’d have a shower and maybe move into the new phone. Pretty low standard for self-care. lol

That question is bigger than one evening, isn’t it? With my partner being injured, I tend to run myself ragged taking care of him, the household, the day-to-day errands, and bringing in a paycheck (and health insurance) and there’s often very little left in a day “for me”. I’m not even bitching, just aware that I am pushing myself hard.  I have these quiet mornings (and I am grateful), but I reliably fail to be as attentive to my needs as a human being as I am to the many other things I’ve got going on, that often seem more urgent, in the moment. So few hours in a day, and the clock is always ticking. I do need to figure this out.

A wildflower on the trail. A picture with a new camera.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I glance at my poor hands; they are a mess of small wounds from unnoticed near-constant picking and tearing at my cuticles. Pure stress. It’s very telling. Just weeks ago my hands were fine, and even well-manicured. My self-care is slipping. Human.

I take time for meditation, sitting here in the morning sunshine, at the halfway point on this walk. I carefully refrain from chewing on my fingers. It takes an act of will to remain mindful and aware. It’s a practice worth practicing. I definitely need the practice.

Another breath. Another moment. I know it is important to be kind to myself, and to take care of this fragile vessel. It also takes practice, and time I often don’t feel I have. It’s complicated. I can only do so much. It’s important to choose wisely. Artistic work is one way I take care of myself. I’m eager to make time for the new pastels.

… I’m feeling eager and inspired, and also a tiny bit hesitant; change is complicated…

… For now, it’s enough to sit in the sunshine on a familiar trail, feeling the soft Spring breeze tickle my skin, and smelling the scent of flowers. Soon enough it will be time to begin again.

Tags , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Allegories, Anxiety, Art, art and the artist, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, inspiration, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, Summer, The Art of Being, Uncategorized

This Seriously Shitty Day in Progress

June 13, 2024 //
0

I’ll keep doing my best…but…

…You don’t have to read this. In fact, I strongly suggest you skip it. I’m going to vent a bit, and share too much, and be too angry, and maybe you just don’t need that right now? Fucking drama, right? I know I don’t need this shit… I also don’t need to save it up to blow up over some even smaller bullshit later on. So, I just need to say words. You don’t have to read them, though…

Sure, it could be better, but it could also be a whole lot worse.

I didn’t get enough sleep last night. I woke with my headache “turned up to 11” this morning. My back aches with my arthritis. I’ve been dealing with a ton of “extras” – extra needs, extra tasks, extra negative emotions from people, extra calls on my calendar, extra email threads – and too little actual bandwidth to deal with it all comfortably, or easily, or with any particular measure of grace. Too much to do and I’m stretched to thin to be good at any of it. I’m just doing my best – and it’s clearly not enough to get the job done like a pro.

I catch tears welling up over and over again. Twice they dripped down my cheeks as I sat at my desk trying to focus on the task at hand. So… on top of all the other bullshit, I’m clearly also dealing with my own – while I sit in an open shared “public” professional (cowork) space. It’s awkward. Uncomfortable. Inconvenient. Inefficient. Distracting. (I’m still doing my best.)

…I even saw today coming, because it was pretty fucking predictable, and in no way actually “personal”…

On top of all that? The lights here are too bright. The office is too cold. My tinnitus is crazy loud. I’m noise-sensitive af. I broke a nail below the quick, and the broken bit snagged on the fabric of this office chair and tore right the fuck off – which hurts like hell, but nothing like this g’damned persistent now-going-on-11-years headache that follows me every-fucking-where, and for which no one (thus far) seems to have any useful insight on it, diagnosis of it, or treatment for it. It’s just there. Reliably. For 11 fucking years now.

My smile feels brittle when I have to interact with someone. It’s not real and doesn’t reach my eyes. I’m aware of it, and I feel self-conscious on top of being in pain. I want to do more, and do it better, and “be there” for everyone who needs me to be – especially my Traveling Partner, who’s dealing with his own misery today (and it’s probably worse than mine,) and who definitely needs my help, my love, and my care.

Why bother to drop this on you? Mostly because you’re here. Writing is a way I cope with complex emotion and shit that is overwhelming me. (Are you still reading this?? I did try to warn you…)

I breathe, exhale… I keep trying. I keep going. I just keep stepping through the various motions of various practices and waiting for something to click… for success to catch up with me… My results vary. Today, my results are not everything I need – they’re just all I’m going to get, apparently.

Hard is hard. The chaos and damage of trauma linger way past when we expect it to, and sometimes that really complicates things. It’s easy – too easy – to take all of it personally (it so clearly is not). My poor quality sleep impairs my thinking and limits my resilience. The work day limits my focus – but there, too, I’m struggling. It’s hard to focus. Hard to stay focused when I get there. I’m distracted by what’s going on with me and what’s going on with my partner and his health. Messy.

…Sometimes doing our best doesn’t get results that feel like enough, but it’s not actually possible to do “more than our best”. Frustrating. Enough has to be enough, but often it doesn’t feel like it is. Sometimes, our “best” is within reach, if we just reach farther, dig deeper, but g’damn… when does that ever end?

…I’m tired and I’m frustrated and I’m in pain. Still not personal. Still just sucks. So human. What is there to do about it besides take a minute to breathe, maybe time to meditate, stay on the path, and begin again? Nothing, I guess… but that doesn’t make it any more comforting when it doesn’t feel like enough, or any easier to practice when it doesn’t immediately feel effective.

…What a shitty fucking day this is so far…

…I’ve still got to begin again… again.

This too will pass.

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Despair, Frustration, grief, health, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights
« Older Entries
Newer Entries »