Cha-Cha-Changes
In a year of uncertainty, we've stood together, arms linked both literally and figuratively. But in the spot we're currently in? I'm ready to let go and get all schlumpy.
My gracegirl has flown the coop for extended periods, little bit took on the responsibility of a new puppy, and we changed nest locations. Phew. Too many life events in the span of five months.
I'm. Exhausted.
Physically. Emotionally. Spiritually. Worn. Out.
I'm not a woman who stops. It's one of my great features and also one of my almost fatal flaws. I go and go and go. Until I'm no good to myself or anyone around me, unless the "around me" includes the public. Then, I'm peachy. I'm "fine". You've heard what that stands for...right? Yep. I'm that. The problem being, that when I'm that I don't like me.
I'm a rare bird. I usually like myself. I don't worry about what others think. I believe that stems from riding the short bus, being in a wheelchair and basically having no friends for most of my preteen years. You learn to not care what others think of you when no one speaks to you. You learn to be okay with the body you've got when it works better than it did almost three decades ago. You appreciate life in a myriad of ways when it's not from the confines of a vantage point where you're usually looking at people's pockets or gimping around with a heart-stickered cane. It's all about perspective and gratitude. So this whole unsure-not-okay-with-myself thing has thrown me for a complete loop.
I'm not a complainer, but I've caught myself doing it lately. I despise that feature in myself. I work on joy and love and graciousness and meeting people where they are at, despite my ridiculously high standards for myself. I would surmise that this stems from my worn-outedness. I don't cope tired. Although I play it off well, my tank is never actually full. I liken having a chronic autoimmune disease to having a newborn while being struck by the flu. Yep. For real. Most of the time you wake up tired, go to bed tired, and are tired all day in-between. I've stopped saying I'm tired. I figure the chicks and the professor accept it as part of our daily life by now. I add in the whole "flu" thing because most days with disease mean weird fevers, joint pain, or rashes, or even the general feeling of fighting-something. Fighting yourself? It's a bitch.
Yep, that brings us to my other new flaw. Cussing. Not ladylike. I'm not saying I didn't do it before, but it wasn't a regular part of my vernacular. This has to change. In the whole scheme of things, it's currently one of my less fatal flaws, but a flaw nonetheless. Has. To. Go.
So here I stand at the crossroads of What The Heck and Where Am I Going. I would LOVE to actually find a place with those street names and linger there for awhile. But it's real life and ain't nobody got time for that. Which leads me back to how I might attempt to find me in the crazy that is our life stage right now. I'm thinking hiding under a rock is frowned upon and generally socially unacceptable, so the other option shall be to learn to say no.
That is a post for a later day, as it may require me to get my hyperventilating head out of bag. Because no is lately the only thing I'm worse at than stopping than go. Funny that they rhyme and both end with o...Which is where I'm at if I don't learn to stop both. A big, fat, 0, as in life = 1, me = 0.
Thank God I can still spell, am good at math (I know one is greater than zero), have a rockin' haircut, and maintain my sense of humor.
see, i'm still counting a joy list...it's short, but it's still a list...and a good one at that
My gracegirl has flown the coop for extended periods, little bit took on the responsibility of a new puppy, and we changed nest locations. Phew. Too many life events in the span of five months.
I'm. Exhausted.
Physically. Emotionally. Spiritually. Worn. Out.
I'm not a woman who stops. It's one of my great features and also one of my almost fatal flaws. I go and go and go. Until I'm no good to myself or anyone around me, unless the "around me" includes the public. Then, I'm peachy. I'm "fine". You've heard what that stands for...right? Yep. I'm that. The problem being, that when I'm that I don't like me.
I'm a rare bird. I usually like myself. I don't worry about what others think. I believe that stems from riding the short bus, being in a wheelchair and basically having no friends for most of my preteen years. You learn to not care what others think of you when no one speaks to you. You learn to be okay with the body you've got when it works better than it did almost three decades ago. You appreciate life in a myriad of ways when it's not from the confines of a vantage point where you're usually looking at people's pockets or gimping around with a heart-stickered cane. It's all about perspective and gratitude. So this whole unsure-not-okay-with-myself thing has thrown me for a complete loop.
I'm not a complainer, but I've caught myself doing it lately. I despise that feature in myself. I work on joy and love and graciousness and meeting people where they are at, despite my ridiculously high standards for myself. I would surmise that this stems from my worn-outedness. I don't cope tired. Although I play it off well, my tank is never actually full. I liken having a chronic autoimmune disease to having a newborn while being struck by the flu. Yep. For real. Most of the time you wake up tired, go to bed tired, and are tired all day in-between. I've stopped saying I'm tired. I figure the chicks and the professor accept it as part of our daily life by now. I add in the whole "flu" thing because most days with disease mean weird fevers, joint pain, or rashes, or even the general feeling of fighting-something. Fighting yourself? It's a bitch.
Yep, that brings us to my other new flaw. Cussing. Not ladylike. I'm not saying I didn't do it before, but it wasn't a regular part of my vernacular. This has to change. In the whole scheme of things, it's currently one of my less fatal flaws, but a flaw nonetheless. Has. To. Go.
So here I stand at the crossroads of What The Heck and Where Am I Going. I would LOVE to actually find a place with those street names and linger there for awhile. But it's real life and ain't nobody got time for that. Which leads me back to how I might attempt to find me in the crazy that is our life stage right now. I'm thinking hiding under a rock is frowned upon and generally socially unacceptable, so the other option shall be to learn to say no.
That is a post for a later day, as it may require me to get my hyperventilating head out of bag. Because no is lately the only thing I'm worse at than stopping than go. Funny that they rhyme and both end with o...Which is where I'm at if I don't learn to stop both. A big, fat, 0, as in life = 1, me = 0.
Thank God I can still spell, am good at math (I know one is greater than zero), have a rockin' haircut, and maintain my sense of humor.
see, i'm still counting a joy list...it's short, but it's still a list...and a good one at that
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