Comment: Slow the F Down

For awhile I was getting off on my efficiency. I was doing it all: the kids were enriched and well fed, I was fighting fit, I wrote everyday, cooked three meals a day and my house was absolutely perfect before I went to bed at night. 24/7, baby. No pauses.

After doing this regime for the past ten months or so, I’ve kind of had it. Or so my body tells me. Apparently you can’t keep going at such a killer pace and not have repercussions.

Every day, it seems I was constantly under the impression that I should be doing something, and it was usually something I wasn’t doing, but something I was going to be doing. Not only was I not living in the moment, I didn’t ever live in the moment, as I was always craning my neck to see what was next, what danger (real or perceived) was coming down the pike. OCD also adds to that neck-craning, because that whole disorder is about anticipating and regretting and truckloads of free-floating fear and anxiety.

Not very Zen.

Anyway, since our family relocated to a new part of the country, it has been non-stop, especially for the grown-ups. Kids adjust better to change than we do. Once we landed here, I somehow turned my amp up to 20 and never stopped to think how that might affect me down the line. It’s hard enough work raising kids without having to start over again in a new place. You don’t know anyone, and nobody cares that you don’t know them. So it’s all on you. It takes so much damn energy to put on a happy face, show your best side and be on your perkiest behavior as you go trawling for friends, community, a life worth living in a new place with no support.

Hell, in Southern California, to contrast things a bit, I had a bi-monthly housekeeper AND a babysitter. Here? Not so much. And we moved up here for a promotion. How’s that for logic? Anyway, even if I did have external help, I sure as shootin’ wouldn’t continue to have it now. Like everyone else, we’re on tight budget. So I’m a one woman show.

I’m not complaining, though. I’m just realizing that by trying to do everything myself, I’ve gotten myself a mite bit exhausted. Drained. Because I just kept kicking up the effort to do all the things I’ve just mentioned. Faster, Pussycat! And now that the seasons are changing and fall/winter depression is lurking in the bushes, it’s even harder to stay upbeat. Because I’m beat.

And no wonder.

This whole year, every workout, I would do a little more, run longer, push harder, do more cardio punching and kicking. Every night I was trying to fit in my writing and other projects, plus significant house maintenance that left me wiped out. I could tell that I was getting burnt out because I found myself getting more and more pissed off at things that don’t usually upset me.

I found myself cleaning up for EVERYONE, totally over-functioning, and this was not good for anyone. It resulted in a cranky me, which radiated into a touchy and irritable pair of kids and an overwhelmed spouse who had to walk on eggshells to keep from setting me off.

I forgot to mention that for the past month I’ve been on a (for me) restrictive diet, depriving myself of my favorite foods (or just feeling really guilty when I do eat them; ahh, the shame spiral) and getting more and more pissed off about it. Bitch, anyone?

These are all things I’ve only just started to figure out. It may seem like a big duh, but I have nobody really monitoring my (hyper)activity level, nobody to say, “Hey, kid, you don’t need to scrub the tub RIGHT NOW; the dishes will wait, go watch a movie.” The idea of going out to just sit in a dark theatre watching a movie seems so unbelievably decadent (and exotic) to me. What, and not bring along some laundry to fold or school papers to file? Perhaps I should try it. It sounds kind of fun. (What is this thing you call, "fun ?" I am interested and would like to learn more.)

Nowadays we are all used to doing many things at once. With all of our little electronic objects (crack) to keep us on multiple tasks, we are rarely allowing ourselves to stop and smell the roses. We don’t even stop, so who has time for flowers?

So perhaps getting sick and landing on my metaphorical ass is going to teach me something about the relentless pace I was trying to maintain. In other words, cut that shit out. Take some time to play. I really need to take a lesson from my kids. I’m so tuned in to knowing when they need a break, but what about me? Perhaps I need to factor myself back into the equation and not do at 90 mph. Cos I think I just got a speeding ticket.