What a difference a week makes. If you happened to read my post last week, "A Bad Case of the Blues," you'd know I'd been struggling a bit. I felt it was important to talk about it, not only as a way for me to recognize that I was indeed struggling, but to let others know that they're not alone if they are struggling with life and these crazy times right now.
I felt so much better after writing that post. I think as a generally happy person, it's hard for me to admit when I'm feeling blue or overwhelmed. Like somehow, I should be able to fight the feelings off with my super rays of sunshine happiness. Alas, I've discovered I am not a superhero, nor do I possess extreme "Blue's Fighting" lasers. It's a shame, really, because I think that would be a tonne of fun.
What I do possess is a serious stubborn streak. I get it from my mother. I also have her thighs and ass. Thanks, Mom. I'm okay with allowing myself to feel the emotions I need to feel. I'm okay with sitting in them for a little while and reflecting on the why. But when I sit too long, it becomes that much harder to dig myself out of the hole. Over the years I've had to dig myself out of some very dark and deep holes, so I know what it takes — and I also know I can't wait for the universe to move me.
No, I need real, tangible signs. Things like dishes all over the kitchen and laundry overflowing from the basket. The new package of paper towels that had been sitting in the doorway for about a month waiting to get put away. Or the mess of flyers — about six weeks' worth — stacked on the shelf by the stairs. I couldn't even sit in the chair in my bedroom because it was just full of clothes and crap. I'm not even going to describe what my workspace was looking like.
I don't like clutter in my mind or in my space. I make my bed every day, no matter what kind of mood I'm in. It's not like I didn't know everything was out of whack — I did. I just didn't want to recognize that I couldn't even bring myself to deal with it, so I'd just been ignoring it. Shutting my eyes and walking right past it all. At the time, that was the only thing I could do.
Until Friday. I'm not sure what I'd been dreaming about, but I woke up with a burr under my saddle — and it wasn't a bad thing. I made my bed, then looked at the shit piled on my chair and knew that today was the day I had to pull myself together and take some serious steps. I couldn't stand it anymore. That, and I was on my emergency, emergency stash of underwear — you know, those few pairs you keep for God knows why and haven't worn in twenty years. Well on Friday morning, I had to reach to the back of the drawer for one of those beauties because every other pair I owned was in the overflowing laundry basket.
Fridays are a home office day for me, and even though I had prep work to do, I decided to push it until later in the weekend. This Friday had to be about me.
I made myself a huge cup of tea and sat on the couch in my living room, just taking stock of where I was and how I was going to tackle the day. My mood had already started to improve mid-week — I do recall moving my shoulders to the music as I was driving to and from appointments on Thursday. The first step.
I'd also, for the most part, spent the entire week off social media and the internet. I love the connections I've made there, but it can also be an overwhelming space, especially in these crazy times. Trying to clear your head and focus on positive thoughts is hard when you're constantly bombarded with negativity, so social media and the internet had to go. The second step.
Friday became a whole bunch of steps thrown together. I had a nice long chat with myself — and when I say chat, I do mean I was talking out loud to myself. I reminded myself that it was okay to feel tired, that based on my work schedule, I had every right to be both physically and mentally exhausted.
Plus, I'm a fifty-year-old woman, and there is shit going on in my body that I have no control over. One of my most pronounced menopausal symptoms has been extreme fatigue. Any of you who know me in real life know that I usually have ridiculous amounts of energy. Not lately. Some days it feels like every cell in my body has been stretched to its absolute limits.
Step four was having a little chat with my ass and thighs. I don't always have the best body image — it's something I've struggled with for a long time, and as a woman, I'm not alone. I'd gained a little bit of weight these past few months, and it bothers me. Not because I don't believe in loving your body, but because my physical well-being is so innately tied to my mental well-being that when my weight isn't where I need it to be, I start feeling down and get angry with myself.
Step five was getting off the couch and having a shower. After my shower, I was ready to rock. I put on the Greatest Hits of the 70s and with the music blaring, I cleaned up the kitchen, started the laundry, and finally put away the paper towels. And as I completed each task, I felt the clutter in my head begin to ease. And I sang. I belted it out all day long. So much so that my voice was hoarse at the end of the night.
And then there was dancing. It started with just a head bob, but by the time some good old disco came on, I was in full-out dance party mode. It was glorious! I was a sweaty, gross mess, but my spirit felt on fire. I needed that dance party more than I thought I did. Dancing — the best therapy there is, at least for me.
My ankles started barking halfway through, but I told them to F-off. They were not going to spoil this party. I let it rip and it continued right into Saturday. When this pandemic ends and we're all finally able to gather with friends and family, I'm going to host one massive, epic dance party in celebration. My training started that day. I would advise you to begin yours if you want to keep up. I have a dancing reputation to uphold.
I also found a smidgen of Christmas spirit and managed to put up my Mom's Little Tree. It's a very special tradition that I will talk more about in a future post, but for now, just know there is a real sense of magic that emanates from it, and I can't help but feel a sense of peace when I sit and stare at it.
I am an incredibly grateful person. I walk around my house and try to remember what it looked like less than two years ago, before I went on my TitsnToolz renovation journey. I do smile when I think of all the work it took and that it was my hands, my thighs, and my ass that did the majority of the heavy lifting.
I live an abundant life full of love and laughter, I really do. And I know this hard time will come to pass. It's already on its way out of town. Going forward, I know that I'm going to have to find a better balance between my job and my creative passions. I feel I have so much to give to both, and when one overrides the other, it throws me completely out of sync.
As I sit writing this and staring at Mom's Little Tree, I have a peace in my heart — and no, it's not the red wine. I can do hard things and so can you. I wouldn't say my bucket of sunshine is overflowing, but this weekend went a long way to patching that hole. The rest will come, I know it will.
I am thankful. I am grateful. I am blessed beyond this world. And I also know I'm going to need a fresh supply of clean underwear going forward. Let's make that a priority.