Archives for posts with tag: what matters most?

I’m awake. Showered. Dressed. Sipping coffee in the usual ordinary sort of way. My day begins relatively gently, and I am eager to return to the office this morning. (I kind of have to write that sentence down, right there, to record factually that indeed I am looking forward to going to work, because I’m not sure that’s a sentence I use very often, or a feeling that is especially common over the entire course of my life, and I want to enjoy the moment.)

I am, for most values of “feeling better”, feeling better. 😀

As with any other sort of subjective state of being, it’s an individual perspective, right? I’ve still got some sinus drainage. Still have some soreness of throat. Still have the cough (which may well linger through the holidays). None of those things are what they were. The cough is seldom, and not as bad, and the sore throat and sinus drainage are also minor. I’m not overwhelmed by fatigue. I don’t have a headache. I’m not shivering while wrapped in blankets in a warm room (very not; the heat is set to “don’t let the house freeze” over night, and I’m just wearing work clothes, not even a sweater, and quite comfortable). I’m work-ready, though, and ready to work. 😀

I’m also super glad I now commute by car, even if distracted drivers keep tapping my fucking bumper at stop lights on an almost monthly basis; I’m well for most values of well, but… I’m not up to walking a mile to catch a bus on a cold morning. Not yet.

Taking care of this fragile vessel is an interesting balancing act. Long-term care means holding down a job and preparing for future retirement… short-term care may require taking time away from work to care for my health right now.

Mental health care works similarly. There is a balance between long-term wellness and urgent care needs to find. There is a balance between addressing issues that are destroying personal perspective and quality of life, and those that degrade relationships with others. A friend struggling with a loved one’s seeming lack of “acceptable” progress, which she feels is required to feel safe in the relationship, doesn’t seem to understand that being in therapy, for the mentally ill loved one, isn’t about that. It’s about saving their own actual life, their experience of living, their quality of life and ability to live and thrive – on their own terms – and achieve mental and emotional wellness – for themselves. I mean, sure. I know when I went into treatment, and this is every time, ever, I definitely wanted to preserve and heal the relationships my condition had affected…but… not at the expense of succeeding to become well, myself. Mental health therapy is for the person seeking treatment – and it’s not about “fixing” that person according to any criteria or standard aside from that determined by the treatment seeking mentally ill person and their therapist. Period. End of stakeholder meeting. Fuck right off if you think you get to insert yourself and your pet concerns into that process to exert influence over a treatment plan intended to achieve reasonable emotional wellness because you have an outcome in mind. Fuck right off indeed – and then go get your own god-damned therapist and take care of your own god-damned needs. lol Seriously, people. “My partner is in therapy” does not equate to “my partner is rebuilding themselves per my specifications”. Just stop and hey, maybe actually support the general emotional wellness of your partner, yourself, and your relationship by being kind, compassionate, listening deeply, and accepting that you, yourself, have your own baggage – and may need your own help. Your partner can not be your therapist, and their therapy is not about you.

Sorry. That’s a bit of a rant there. I’ve just been through it in too many partnerships. The “concerned” questions that mask a hidden agenda. The probing about what is going on in therapy. The lack of willingness to actually participate or seek help, while pushing the full weight of all the issues of a relationship onto the mentally unwell partner because they are unwell, rather than be accountable for some portion of the dynamic. The clear drive to push an agenda into therapy content. The disapproval of selected therapist or treatment modality because it doesn’t meet the needs of the person not even seeking help in the first place. The indirect arguments with a therapist who’s not even in the room if those pesky probing questions are met with openness and trust, but the answers are uncomfortable. Fuck all that. Everyone has their own baggage, and very few people in relationships are “crazy alone” – the crazy becomes shared over time. If you are in therapy, yourself, it’s about you. That’s okay. It’s supposed to be. If your loved one is in therapy, be supportive without being invasive; it’s not about you. It just isn’t. Just fucking chill. (I know, I know, you feel out of control because you can’t control what your partner reveals to the therapist – maybe it is the “wrong” stuff, or not enough, or not “what matters”… and you still don’t get to call the shots, and it still isn’t about you, and you still need to go find something else to do with your time and let your partner handle their business.)

I breathe. I relax. Memories. Wow. I still carry around some pain and some anger about an ex who worked very hard to “guide” my treatment in therapy, with some degree of success, to my detriment – over time I ended up becoming progressively much worse. I’m glad I am out of that relationship. Turned out that mattered a great deal and was an important positive change. Turns out it is still enough to ruffle my feathers when watching friends go through it from an outsider’s perspective. It’s not easy. It’s a lot of damned work. People seek therapy because they are hurting. Therapy itself is sometimes a process of feeling all the hurts until the hurts are processed and in perspective – that just doesn’t even sound pleasant, and it isn’t at all. It’s a process, and the tedium and strain and quantities of change and upheaval are not eased by attempting to interfere, that’s really what I’m saying. 🙂 (And, just to keep it real, I’m still working on plenty of my own issues – remember that whole “living alone” thing? Yeah. Therapy turns out to be muuuuch easier in that context. Much.)

It’s a new day. A good one for all manner of new beginnings, and starting things. Where will you take it? Will you use your human super powers for good or evil? Will you be listening deeply, or waiting for your turn to talk? Will you make taking care of yourself well and with great skill and compassion a high priority? Will you take one step to change the world for the better, yourself? Take a look around. It’s time to begin again. 🙂

I didn’t have an easy night. Falling asleep didn’t happen easily. Staying asleep wasn’t going super well, either. At midnight, again, I was awake, drinking hot tea to sooth my sore throat, and waiting to be sleepy enough, again, to try sleep, again. Pillows piled too high, I didn’t seem to doze off. Too low and I found that I quickly couldn’t breathe. Sometime after 2 am, I found a “sweet spot”. The alarm went off far too soon after that.

Yesterday it was an achievement to enjoy a moment in the garden, quietly.

I woke with a clear sense that I am “getting over this”, at long last, although the cough persists, my throat is still sore, and my sinuses are still stuffy. There’s a new quality to it, subtle and hard to pin down specifically, that just feels like everything is, in some tiny way, just a bit less “off” and just a bit more “recovering”. I’m not well, though, and there are so many ways to choose to proceed that could delay getting over this completely. “Pushing myself too hard” is just one of them, but it is on my mind because it is one that I rather regularly choose. I’m not inclined to do that, today. I consider calling out entirely, but there is a small amount of preparatory work setting up tomorrow that I would ideally want to have done before tomorrow arrives… but… yeah, soooo not up to working an entire day in the office.

Today was either going to be working from home (this cough is pretty disruptive, if nothing else), or calling out entirely; that’s the decision that needs to be made this morning. I still don’t know. I was pretty sick Friday, such that I failed to bring my (work) laptop home with me (just wasn’t thinking clearly). To work from home I need to go get it. (The humor in that is not lost on me; if I work, I’ll have to commute, to get the laptop, to work from home.) Calling out comes with no such requirement, and omg I am so still sick enough, but it is a choice that requires convincing myself to let Monday’s work go even just one day, and picking up that thread tomorrow. Layers of decision-making. If I choose to call out today, and end up feeling like working from home tomorrow makes more sense than going into the office… then I’ve merely delayed that silly commute to pick up the laptop. If I think there is any risk at all I may want/need to work from home tomorrow, it makes sense to get the laptop today… doesn’t it? Or does it?

All the major weekly deliverables on my plate each week that go out to my consumers are handled on Mondays. This makes Mondays “matter” a great deal to me. But… so does my health. Shit. This is hard.

I do feel “more better” this morning than I have in days… My decision this morning may affect my timely recovery from illness… soooo…

I keep turning it over in my head. Pros. Cons. Back and forth. Out of nowhere I am wracked with coughs, choking on the crap my lungs are trying to expel that has slowly settled in them over days. No. It’s pretty clear. I’m not quite well yet. Almost there… almost… there…

I decide to call out for this one. Just, call out. Entirely. Work on getting sufficiently well to really return to work tomorrow. I find myself hoping this is the wiser choice. I breathe. Pay attention to my physical state of being in all particulars… I feel some tiny bit better today than any day I went home early last week… I also feel notably worse than any day I worked an entire shift last week… I also feel very much that one more day of recovery will see me past the worst of it, and really ready to get back to work… so…

I make the hard choice. I call out for today. I commit to taking care of this fragile vessel. I use up a couple more tissues. I cough for a few minutes more. I finish my coffee, and make a cup of tea. I adjust the thermostat to “staying home today”.

Then, I begin again.

I succeeded in sleeping in this morning, until almost 8:30 am. It mattered less that I also woke basically every two hours during the night, or that I was awake for two hours, sometime around midnight, than that I was able to simply keep sleeping until the thought of being awake no longer seemed like a compromise of my most basic self-care. I was up for a couple of hours. I watched some entertaining videos. I scrolled through Facebook. I showered and handled basic hygiene and self-care tasks (most easily accomplished while I am awake).

I went back to bed, and slept through much of the afternoon, waking more or less around tea time, which is to say, around 3pm. I woke a number of times, but a quick check on my consciousness found me choosing more sleep, each time, until this last time, when I chose, at last, to wake and even to get up. I had to pee. Not getting up wasn’t really an option. I didn’t go back to bed, but mostly only because I didn’t want more sleep any more than I wanted to be awake, and since I was already awake, and up, I simply decided to continue along that path awhile. lol I’m not terrifically engaged with the moment, the fire of my natural presence flickers. Clearly I am ill. So… a fresh cup of hot tea. A new moment. I am on auto-pilot, and only barely truly awake. I am uncertain where the evening may take me.

I am hungry. The amount of work involved in feeding myself doesn’t seem at all appealing. The sorts of foods I could order? Don’t seem at all appealing. So. Here I sit. Hungry and doing nothing whatsoever about it. Thinking about taking action on the food thing, I find myself contemplating going back to bed instead… I would not notice any feelings of hunger if I were asleep… It would be easier.

I sip my tea. It is hot, bland, basically flavorless. I’m sick and nothing tastes good, really. I think about how easily I could heat up some chicken soup, though… Chicken soup, with Rick & Morty… or chicken soup with Archer… or chicken soup with Harry Potter, South Park, or Samurai Champloo… or chicken soup with a favorite book… I chuckle when I realize that I am more interested in the chicken soup itself than any accompanying entertainment. Okay, okay – chicken soup then. No problem. I’ve got plenty made. I find myself feeling somewhat buoyed by the thought of rich hot broth, chunks of chicken meat, veggies stewed in the flavorful broth, buckwheat noodles…

I lift myself from my chair with some awkwardness and stiffness. I barely notice the pain I am in, moment-to-moment, because flu symptoms suck so much, but there it is, when I move. I stand with some difficultly, and wait a few seconds to be sure of my balance, before making my way to the kitchen. Chicken soup won’t heat itself. lol One obvious downside to living alone; I’ve always got to be the one fetching tissues or mugs of tea, or heating up the soup. 🙂

I’m still sick, and it is sort of pissing me off (along with just feeling poorly). I mean, it isn’t that bad, right? Just bad enough to keep me feeling fairly under-the-weather, fatigued, and out-of-sorts dealing with symptoms. I get over the headache, the sore throat gets worse. The sore throat isn’t so bad? Well, the sinus congestion is worse. Got the sinus congestion mostly managed? No problem, how about we move this crap into my chest and add a cough? I guess I wasn’t surprised by the return of the headache, the swollen glands, or the utter lack of deeply restful sleep, which persists. Who the hell decided we needed to be meat puppets of all things?? Highly inefficient. Prone to illness, and all manner of breakdowns. :-\

I grumble through my shower, yoga, my morning coffee, and even a restless attempt at a morning walk around the block, which got me to the end of the driveway. (I really “needed some air”. The fresh air felt lovely, but I am too sick to take any sort of long walk.) Meditation, like sleep, works out less than ideally well.

On my way in to the office, I’ll stop by the doctor’s office and lab, and have a properly credentialed adult provide an opinion; it’s rare that I’m sick more than a day or two, and this is day 4. I remind myself that it is more than likely what I thought it most likely to be initially, just this year’s newest strain of ick going around. Common enough in my work environment. This being the case does not stop the circumstances from being incredibly annoying; I have weekend plans. 😦 The closer the weekend gets, the less likely it seems that those plans will live to see real life in action. Yes, hell yes, I am disappointed. Sort of. Almost. I’m just sick enough to also mostly not actually care any time I think of sleeping, sleeping in, going back to sleep, napping, resting, lying down… Yeah, I’m totally sick.

I may not write tomorrow. The desire to sleep in today almost got me to reset the alarm for later. Tomorrow I might follow through on that, since I clearly need more sleep right now. I’m too sick to have much to say that has any lasting value, the writing is habitual, and part of “who I am”, I sit down to it each day mostly without even thinking about it, or planning to. It is a commitment. A compulsion? A practice.

Tomorrow, I’ll probably just begin again. 🙂

My sleep continues to be restless and interrupted by the inconvenience of being ill. It’s not as bad as it was, and my symptoms continue to improve, nonetheless I am sleeping like crap. I woke several times during the night, briefly, and got up once to sip a soothing cup of tea before returning to sleep. I woke to the alarm, which seemed needlessly loud, and a pounding headache, which… hurts. I woke feeling tired. I plod along as the morning continues. I feel uninspired.

It’s definitely obvious that I’m not feeling well, when I look around the house. I experience a moment of real annoyance, which suggests I’m also feeling better for real. My housekeeping definitely suffers when I’m sick. I almost had the energy to do something about the state of things, when I arrived home from work yesterday, but… I’d run out of spoons. I went to bed early, instead of doing any housework at all. The closer the weekend is, the more housework I’ll be cramming into less time, if I want the place to be tidy when I return home Sunday evening… or… I’ll have to allow myself to not do that, like, even at all, which… would be weird.

I sigh quietly looking at my “to do list”. It’s not really all that bad, it’s just… I’m sick and I really only want to go back to bed. lol Living alone does have, as one obvious consequence, the down side that I’ve got to take care of myself, and all of everything else besides, when I am sick. There’s no one else here to “pick up the slack” or take care of the laundry and dishes and whatnot when I’m not up to it. I’m mostly okay with shit just not getting done until I feel exactly enough better that I am once again aware that it matters to me after all… The trick, it seems, is to learn not to over-react and exhaust myself trying to get everything tidied up and put right when I finally do get going on it.

This morning I teeter on the edge of feeling sufficiently ill to just want to go back to bed, generally, and feeling enough better that it really really bothers me that there are dishes in the sink (because I was too dizzy-tired-weak to both empty the dishwasher of clean dishes, and also load it again with dirty ones). I’m seriously aggravated with myself for how untidy the kitchen is. I’m annoyed that the small trash cans placed here and there for convenience are all filled up with used tissues, particularly because it is trash pick up day, and if I hustled I could empty them all and take the trash down the driveway in time to be hauled away. I’m not yet ready to move quite so briskly. Shit.

I start feeling really frustrated with myself, and with being sick. I have shit to do!! The bang when I set my coffee mug down abruptly, more firmly that I realized I would, gets my attention. Oh hey, no kidding, this is really bugging me…

I pause and let myself really breathe for a moment or two. I correct my posture. I put aside writing long enough to allow myself to truly feel heard – by me – on the matter of the housekeeping. I sit with my aggravation for a little while, allowing myself to recognize how frustrating the situation is for me, being too sick to keep up on the housekeeping, because I associate (my) poor housekeeping with (my) symptoms of mental illness. My earliest obvious sign that I am struggling and perhaps disordered in my thinking, is often when my environment is also becoming disordered. I like order. Nothing wrong with that. I breathe, and contemplate my fondness for order. I accept that being sick leaves me with much less energy for physical work, and allow myself to compassionately acknowledge that this is what it is, and is very human. I remind myself there is no one here criticizing me; I am accountable to myself, sure, but also accountable to myself for treating myself well. I breathe, and relax, and find myself feeling more settled and comfortable, although eager to feel well enough to get on with things, which seems a healthier approach to the circumstances.

I add a couple things to my list that I’ll want to catch up on when I am able to do so. I promise myself that I’ll tackle the dishes by emptying the dishwasher this morning, and reloading it tonight after work. I find a couple other gentle compromises that get things done without tiring me. It’s enough.

I begin again…