Tuesday, 9:15 pm., January of the New Year.
Me: Various sighs, groans, furrowed brows and a giant flop on the couch.
My husband: raised eyebrow, turn of the head, “what’s up babe? What’s coming up for you?”
Me: glare. Then a loud, overstated,
“IT’S AFTER 9PM, I’VE BEEN UP SINCE 6 AND IT’S THE FIRST TIME I’M SITTING DOWN ALL DAY AND DOING SOMETHING FOR ME AND NOT SOMEONE ELSE!”
Insert long pause here as I realize two things.
I’m throwing a tantrum. Like my seven year old, who, coincidentally, is also too old and too verbally skilled to be throwing tantrums.
The person responsible for this reality is, um, well, me.
I seem to have misplaced my reset button these last few months. My daily time-out has been cancelled, my movement break on hiatus, my life force source in dormant mode.
Um. No thanks.
My schedule has shifted again, and as I’ve been adjusting I’ve lost the precious me-time I used to regularly carve out every day with a morning quiet time/meditation and a noon practice. I (of course) thought I could just find a different time to do those things, and instead, I just stopped doing them all together.
It turns out I don’t function well without those things.
All day, my day is beeps and buttons. Go here, do this, say that, see these, find those, feed these positively starving children, answer those questions, sign this form, make that appointment, transport people to that event, smile and clap and don’t work while watching it, hold space for the emotions of two small humans, remember what my name is. . .
There’s not a lot of space in that for me, which is why, of course, I had fallen into those two practices previously. Typically, I start my day with quiet time to write, to put my legs up the wall, to meditate if I’m so inclined, and to enjoy my coffee while my family sleeps.
It makes me cheery and grateful to see them when they wake up and to kiss or hug them good morning with real enthusiasm and not a sigh of exhaustion. It helps me love doing things, like cooking them breakfast, more. It helps me get to work feeling grounded and ready to be at work. It makes my whole day better.
Mid-day practices energize me. They provide a pause in between moving a million miles an hour and moving two million miles an hour. It’s the space between productivity, and busyness.
A mid day break keeps me productive, and without it, my energy, and my attitude, slump and by the time the kids go to bed instead of reaching for my second round of work, all I want to do is curl up next to my husband and pass the fuck out and sleep.
This isn’t working for me. There’s a reason my mood, my health, and my energy was higher before this.
It’s not the weather. It’s not the workload. It’s not the children. It’s the time that I’m not making.
And so, back on track. Back to my space. Back to early morning rising and daily practice, even if that turns out to just be 20 minutes of sun salutations on my lunch break.
To show up fully for everyone else, I’ve got to start by filling up myself.
No more excuses. No more compromises to my own health. I’ve got to have my own back, or eventually I won’t be able to stand at all.
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