Self-care matters. How can you cope with what life is going to throw at you without taking care of your physical body or nurturing your good heart? How do you keep practicing without adequate rest and good nutrition? How can you heal from trauma or bounce back from a trying moment without caring for yourself? The answer isn’t new information; you can’t. I mean, maybe for a short while you’d manage, but over the long haul?
Practice good self-care.
Even in the midst of chaos, make a point to take time to rest.
Things are pretty intense lately, and probably for a few more days (maybe weeks) to come. Juggling work, caregiving, and the requirements of maintaining a household is complicated, fraught with potential for miscommunication and missteps, and just fucking difficult. It is chaotic and emotionally challenging. Maintaining a sense of calm and optimism is hard. Sometimes it feels very “personal”, but reason tells me it’s not personal at all. Just really really hard.
I often feel as if I am not up to the challenges I am facing. I remain wholly committed to doing my best, moment to moment, though I recognize that it sometimes isn’t enough. I avoid lashing out when I am feeling hurt, frustrated, or angry – there’s nothing to be gained from that kind of reaction right now. My results vary, and I keep on practicing. I refrain from “venting” my anger or frustration; the science is in on that (it doesn’t help and tends to increase how quickly a person becomes angry, and how intensely, over time). It’s incredibly difficult to maintain this level of self-discipline in the face of the present challenges.
… I keep practicing…
Eventually this too will pass. I don’t know what the future holds, and I can’t see the path ahead clearly, but I keep walking, literally and metaphorically. I keep practicing the practices that have helped me become the person I am, and which continue to lead me down the path of becoming the person I most want to be. Incremental change over time is a process.
Right now self-care is keeping me from completely losing my way and descending into chaos. It doesn’t always feel like enough, but it’s something. I am relying on it.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. For a few minutes I can simply walk, and breathe, and reflect. Where does this path lead? I watch the sun rise. I listen to the birds, squirrels and chipmunks start their day. I notice the pain I’m in. I only give it enough attention to take care of it; self-care matters. I take my medication on time trying to “stay ahead of the pain”. I keep walking.
A lot of our chaos, pain, and hardship is created by our own efforts or thinking. I do my best to avoid making up shit to be stressed or angry about. I just don’t need the additional emotional burden, ever really, and especially right now. I breathe and let shit go. I walk and practice forgiveness and gratitude. I remind myself “this too will pass”…
… and I just keep walking…
Another breath, another moment, another sunrise; another chance to begin again.
This is a traveler’s tale, and a metaphor intended to provide perspective on a common challenge (for mechanics, travelers, and human beings, generally).
Imagine, if you will, a person with a vehicle. The vehicle is used. The person intends to be the mechanic, and plans to “fix up” the vehicle for long-term use. The vehicle is not “chosen”, just happens to be the (used) vehicle at hand. It’s got… “issues”, some wear-and-tear, and some obvious damage. It’s the only vehicle available to the person-now-mechanic, no trade-ins, no swaps – it is what it is, and it’s got to last a lifetime.
The mechanic doesn’t have a manual for the vehicle, but other mechanics generously share what they have learned over time. He doesn’t choose to put this knowledge into practice; he’s sure he’s got this, and can simply do the troubleshooting and handle the repairs, although he doesn’t actually know much about the vehicle (in spite of having been the only “owner”, and using it regularly). He frequently complains about how crappy his vehicle is, and when offered advice generally finds ample reason to disregard it, or contradicts with some reason the advice doesn’t apply to his vehicle at all.
This mechanic – on top of not having a repair manual for this vehicle – has never repaired a vehicle before, never done much troubleshooting, never had any training on vehicle repair (and most of what he “knows” about maintenance is incorrect). His toolbox is… empty. He has only his vehicle, which needs repairs, and his less-than-fully-committed desire to fix it (and continue to use it). He regularly swears at, and about, the vehicle, calling it names, dismissing its value to him, and expressing no particular gratitude for having a vehicle that runs, at all, even though it regularly manages to get him from place to place pretty reliably.
Friends of the mechanic – mechanics themselves – offer the mechanic tools to add to his toolbox and make suggestions about how to proceed, based on their own experience learning to maintain and repair their vehicles. He slowly acquires some wrenches, a socket set, and assorted other basic tools for getting the necessary work done. Nothing much gets done; he doesn’t yet know how to use the tools, nor how to repair the vehicle (having overlooked, forgotten, or disregarded all the information and suggestions provided to him). He’s too embarrassed to ask how various tools work, or how best to use them. (He doesn’t want to “look stupid”.) He walks around his vehicle each morning with a frown, giving it an occasional kick, or knocking on it randomly with a wrench. He knows nothing. He’s pretty convinced he can – and must – do this entirely on his own, though all of his tools and knowledge have come from other mechanics, as it is. He doesn’t apply that information, nor learn those lessons. He stubbornly insists he’ll do this himself… then does nothing, because he doesn’t know what to do, which tool to use, or how to proceed.
…He’s not even really sure what’s wrong, he just feels “everything is worthless and terrible”, without recognizing that much of his situation is his own doing…
The mechanic continues to drive his damaged vehicle which runs poorly. He continues to bitch constantly about what a piece of garbage his vehicle is. He becomes angry with the frustration of mechanics around him who don’t understand how it is he feels so helpless…and they become angry with him. (Have they not provided the information? The tools? Some guidance? Haven’t they offered to help?) He’s sure they “don’t understand” his situation. His vehicle is a broken piece of shit that is worthless!! How do they not see that? Why don’t they tell him how to turn his broken vehicle into a luxury sports car in three easy steps?! Why didn’t he get a better vehicle in the first place?? How is it not obvious to every mechanic around that he’s at a unique disadvantage that surely they can’t understand!? Each morning, he wakes up, goes to his broken vehicle, and crossly goes about his business, frustrated and filled with despair. He often wonders if maybe he just sucks as a mechanic – but he’s yet to actually undertake any repair work, or try to repair his vehicle. Mostly, he just uses it and complains about its condition. Sometimes he lets it run out of gas, then complains about how the vehicle let him down, again. Sometimes he parks it carelessly, then complains about new damage when rolls downhill and hits a fence post or a tree. Sometimes he performs some maintenance task, but rejects all the instructive advice he was given, does the task incorrectly, and then complains that it “didn’t work”.
…Doesn’t he deserve a luxury sports vehicle..?
…Sure seems like everyone else has a better vehicle than he does…
It’s a metaphor. We’re the mechanics of these vehicles that are our mortal lifetimes. This fragile mortal vessel succumbs so easily to illness, injury, or simple fatigue. This delicate soul which inhabits our mortal form is easily damaged by trauma, disappointment, and sorrow. If we don’t practice good self-care, our experience over time degrades. We develop poor practices to cope with unpleasant circumstances. Our health may fail. Life happens – a lot – and there is much to endure. If we don’t “read the manual” (in whatever form that sort of information is available to us), we’re at risk of not caring for ourselves skillfully. When we don’t have the tools to care for our bodies, minds, and hearts, we may find ourselves broken, and feeling pretty lost and beat down. When we don’t practice the skills we do learn, those skills degrade and provide less value. When we reject help, or tools, from those around us who care and who have greater knowledge or experience, we slow our progress on life’s journey.
…The journey is the destination…
We don’t know what we don’t know. There’s a lot to learn. Life is short – so short. I’m not saying being a mechanic is easy. We don’t even get to choose our vehicle! We get what we get – and it’s used by the time we realize we’re the only mechanic available to service it!
Practice using your tools.
Read the fucking manual. (And pay attention to useful information when offered.)
Use the most appropriate tool for the task at hand.
Keep your tools organized and ready to use.
Ask for help.
Accept help when offered – especially if you asked for it!
Do your best.
Take a break when you feel overwhelmed.
Be grateful for the vehicle you have – it could be worse. (You could be walking.)
Enjoy the drive. That’s the whole point.
Becoming a skilled mechanic takes time and effort. Maintaining your “vehicle” in peak operating condition requires real work. Give yourself the time, and do the work. Mastery requires practice – a lot of practice – and there are no shortcuts. When you fail (and you will), learn from your mistakes – and begin again.
I’m sitting with my first coffee of the morning. I came prepared, and although it is instant, it’s a good quality instant, and a good cup of coffee. It’s hot, clean tasting on my tongue, and satisfying.
A rainy coastal Monday.
My first sight upon waking, was the rainy day beyond the balcony of my “ocean view” hotel room (which lacks any hint of ocean view, by virtue of being on the first floor, but offers a lovely view of Siletz Bay). The second thing I noticed was a couple of young… sea otters? Seals? They were relaxing on this side of the bay, quite nearby. I went to grab my camera to get a shot of this not-all-that-common sight (usually they’re on the other side of the bay, too far away to get a good picture with my lens). Returning to the balcony, I see that a man walking his dog has also spotted them. Does he stay well back to let them be? Oh, hell no, he’s American; he quickly moves forward to take his fucking dog closer. Jackass. The sea otters (I think, based on how they moved) slipped back into the water as he closed in on them with his (thankfully leashed) dog. I got a couple of truly pointless shots of the larger pod they are clearly part of, as individuals bobbed above the water, and the pod moved on down the bay. Still – what a fun sight. I take a moment to enjoy that, and I forget about the man and his dog.
I woke early enough that the beach was empty (on a rainy morning), and slept in (for real) late enough to wake well past daybreak, dawn, or even sunrise (although there is no sunrise to see on this gray rainy morning, only a homogenous gray sky). I feel rested. I leave the balcony door wide open to let in the sea breeze and the cool fresh air. I sip my coffee, contentedly. I’m here with my pastels, and I can paint as easily from reference photos and from my imagination, as I can from the actual view, so the rain is nothing to me, and doesn’t change my plans, or upset me in any way. It was lovely to sleep so deeply, and to wake so rested. If that were all I got from this trip away, it would be very much worth it.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. My back aches ferociously. The damp climate of a cool rainy summer day on the coast is hard on my arthritis pain, and for a moment I am “feeling my years”, until I think to recall that I’ve had this arthritis since I was 24 or 25 years old – so for almost 40 years – and it’s nothing at all to do with age or aging. I shrug it off as an annoyance of no consequence, and get on with things anyway. It still amounts to an irritating distraction, but little more than that, so far. My tinnitus is not quite silenced by the wind and the waves – it’s a combination of sounds that sort of “drowns it out” when I’m on the coast, close enough to hear the ocean. It’s a nice break from the aggravation of my tinnitus at full volume. I take a minute to enjoy it with my full attention.
It’s not yet late enough for the hotel breakfast, but I rarely find their strange grab-and-go assorted things for “breakfast” to be satisfying, nourishing, or even particularly “breakfast-y”. Just a cheap convenience, and this trip I am more prepared to take care of this fragile vessel. I’ve got salad greens, blueberries, cashews, and hard-boiled eggs in the room fridge, and I make a simple breakfast salad. My stomach isn’t yet particularly interested in food (it’s a bit soon after waking), but it’ll be lovely to have a “real breakfast” once I’m ready to eat something.
These are such mundane details of such an ordinary life – why bother writing any of this down? I dunno, because maybe someone, somewhere, reading this hasn’t sorted it all out yet? Hasn’t “solved for X” in some of life’s math, perhaps, and simply reflecting on the things that work – or don’t – and what matters most (at least now, to me) may be helpful perspective in some way? In 2013, for example, I don’t think it would have occurred to me how much my own choices in life – simple practical decision-making – were responsible for the vast majority of my personal misery. I don’t know that simply saying “you’re doing this to yourself” would have gotten through to me, but perhaps someone simply reflecting on the things that are working well – small, sustainable, simple choices – might have guided me (or at least made me think)? Besides… I just write. It’s a thing I do. (I’m grateful that you are reading. Thank you.) It’s also “for me”; I often go back and read my writing from other days, other circumstances, with new eyes, or seeking new inspiration, or a reminder that “this too will pass”, or that I’ve “been here before”. (One of the lasting consequences of my TBI is simply that I have some memory-related challenges, and some oddities about how I perceive (or don’t) novelty – sometimes I just don’t recognize that I’ve “been through this before”. Helps to have a reminder.)
…I sit awhile, reflecting on how far this journey has taken me over the past 11 years, from being deeply negative, traumatized, mired in despair, and looking for “an exit strategy”, to where I am now – mostly pretty positive, generally contented, often joyful, enjoying life and love (and even enjoying work), and feeling a deep sense of… joie de vivre. It’s lovely. Each sunrise is worth seeing. Each day has something new to offer. Not only is the journey the actual destination…it’s a journey I find worth taking. That’s a long way to come from those dark days standing on the precipice, ready to decide whether to make a permanent end to my pain. I’m grateful that I made the appointment with the therapist who helped me find my way to a better path. (If you’re in despair, please reach out to someone for help. You matter.)
I stand, stretch, and begin to dress. I haven’t yet gone for a walk on the beach (or taken any walk at all yet, this morning). Seems a pleasant morning for it. The rain has stopped, the sand is firm, and although the tide is coming in, it won’t be a very high tide – plenty of beach to walk. The morning feels oddly “out of order”, with coffee and breakfast ahead of my walk. I chuckle to myself. This is the sort of healthy variation from a routine that serves to keep my brain flexible and young. I go with it. No complaints. Rigidity of thinking does not serve a human primate well. I breathe in the fresh ocean air deeply, and exhale, imaging blowing my pain out with my exhaled breath. I’m not sure it’s an effective strategy, but doing so amuses me and diminishes the power my pain has over my mind. I stand in the open doorway, watching the gulls and crows down on the beach. Somewhere nearby I hear a woodpecker. Now dressed, the day feels that it has more truly begun. I nibble at my salad, and finish my first coffee. There’s more hot water ready, so making a second cup is an obvious next step; there’s no hurry. This is my life. This is my time. This is my experience. Every step on this path is my “next step” – mine to choose, mine to walk, mine to reflect upon at the end of the day. Although our lives are intertwined and we are interdependent social creatures, we’re also each having our own experience. It matters to be and to choose – and to experience this life that I have chosen. I breathe, exhale, and relax.
…The day stretches ahead of me, unplanned, unconstrained, not yet filled with my choices and the verbs required by those choices. I am my own cartographer. The journey is the destination. It’s time to begin again.
Life is beginning to develop a “new normal”. Change is, and it won’t be argued with. We adapt. Shift gears. Adjust routines. Change our habits. Resisting change, generally, is fairly pointless (especially if we chose it). How we cope with it says a lot about who we are.
My Traveling Partner and the Anxious Adventurer seem to be enjoying the new arrangement generally speaking. I’m okay with it, too. It’s pretty nice having some help while my partner is injured. I can now see a time on the horizon of my future when I won’t be chronically exhausted and on the edge of hitting some emotional or physical limitation that shuts me down and reduces my capacity to be helpful. It’s encouraging.
Having still less time to myself and less space of my own to retreat into takes getting used to. This is offset, though, by how much better things can be for my Traveling Partner, how much more skillfully his needs can be met by the two of us splitting up the work of caregiving, and how this makes it so much easier (for me) to also focus on my partner romantically and emotionally (because I am not completely run down by physical labor). Caregiving is more difficult than it may appear to someone not involved in caregiving, themselves. I’ve certainly got a newfound depth of understanding about it, personally!
I sigh quietly to myself, sitting alone on a bench along the trail, watching the sun rise. Pretty morning. Maybe less hot than it has been? I’m grateful for these quiet solitary moments.
As often happens with me, changes in my environment (and living situation) have disrupted my sleep. I wake briefly at odd times, responding to a new noise, or turning over and somehow noticing my orientation in the room is different than it had been previously, or just different than I expect. Sometimes I actually wake, maybe sit up for a moment, or read for a little while. It’s fine. It’ll pass. Annoyingly, one of these new “wake points” is at 03:00, too close to my typical time to wake up such that I can’t easily get back to sleep. lol It’ll pass. Change is, and I do adapt.
Another work day. Soon the weekend. 16 days to my coastal getaway. It’s nice having that to look forward to. There’s quite a bit of work and change to manage between now and then, but… It’s fine. Truly fine. I feel pretty good this morning, in spite of arthritis and headache pain. Pleasant morning.
I find myself missing my Traveling Partner, though we’re separated only by a handful of miles and the few minutes of travel time from finishing my walk to returning home. Humans are strange creatures prone to attachment. lol
The sun continues to rise. It’s time to finish my walk and get on with the day. It’s a good time to begin again.
The air was still fresh from the drenching rain during the night when I stepped out of the car at the trailhead. Drops falling from the trees occasionally spattered my face and hoodie, which I sensibly wore thinking it might be a cool morning. I breathed deeply, filling my lungs with the rain-fresh air. I walked briskly, alone with my thoughts, my arthritis pain, and my headache. Only one of these things mattered much to me, the rest I did my best to ignore as inconsequential.
Yesterday’s appointments, first with my therapist, and later with my physician, were an interesting study in perspective. I showed up to both prepared to discuss stress and anxiety and how best to manage these lingering mental health concerns, only to be firmly told by both that my levels of stress and anxiety, at least under the current circumstances, seem quite reasonable and even appropriate. Well… Shit. I’m not nearly as well-practiced at managing reasonable-not-a-sign-of-mental-illness stress and anxiety. lol In each conversation it’s agreed that similar techniques and continued practice are helpful. No change to medications or recommendations. Just… Keep managing. Keep up self-care efforts properly. Keep breathing and keep cutting myself some fucking slack, eh? It’s still a lot to handle, but apparently that’s pretty fucking reasonable under the circumstances. It was peculiarly helpful to hear that.
…It doesn’t make things any easier…but it does take a bit of pressure off…
I’ve been hard on myself a lot lately. Sometimes my self-talk is pretty negative, even though I know how cruel and unhelpful that is. I’ve carried some shame and disappointment that I am not a more skilled caregiver for my Traveling Partner, when he needs so much from me while he’s been injured. I’ve labored under the additional burden of my disappointment with myself over not having more energy, more capacity to labor on, more ability to get everything done, every day. I’ve been angry with myself just for not being younger, more able, and for needing rest and care, myself.
…My Traveling Partner, on the other hand, has been kind and appreciative, and generally far more impressed and grateful for my help every day, so this shit is definitely me…
I breathe and keep walking. My Traveling Partner pings me, letting me know he’s awake. I stop on the trail and exchange a few messages before continuing. Time to head back to the car and start the work day. There’s a lot to do, and it sounds like my partner’s son will arrive later, sometime this evening.
Fuck, I’m so tired… A good night’s sleep doesn’t restore my energy these days and every day seems to start with a longer list of shit that needs attention… And I keep putting myself last on my list! Not helpful. lol No wonder I’ve been stressed and anxious. I breathe, exhale, relax… And get ready to begin again.
This is all pretty real stuff. Life. Sometimes it’s a bit much, but it’s better than the current alternatives. I breathe, exhale, relax, and walk on. I’ll get where I am going, eventually. It’s a journey. Incremental progress is still progress. One step forward is still forward momentum. Making a point of being kind to myself doesn’t take any time or cost any money. Worth doing and I’m sure it’ll be helpful stress-management-wise.
Evening Light 