Recently, I had a good week. An entire week like I haven’t had in…years, probably.
I checked things off my to-do list.
I wrote.
I worked out five times and had two active rest days.
In a word, I KICKED ASS.
It was fleeting. But it happened. And a month or two ago, it wouldn’t have been possible, I wouldn’t have been able to do it. Sure, I would have kicked you in the shins if you had told me that or even had the indecency to imply it wasn’t possible, alas it remains the truth. Sometimes when your nervous system is so overloaded, it’s almost impossible to see just how fried you are. As I have written about before, I don’t exactly excel at Going Slow. “Relaxing” and “lazy” are practically synonymous in my head. This is not to say that I am constantly doing things and being productive. No, mostly that just means I am anxiety napping and feeling guilty about it.
The couple of months following my hospitalization for rhabdo is the only time I can remember needing to slow down and actually doing it. Mainly because my body would not physically allow me to do anything except be tired and move at the pace of molasses. It was bodily exhaustion like no other. But, after my four days in the hospital I went back to work, commuting into Manhattan, working long days, and proceeding to get married three times like a lunatic. During that time I also changed jobs in an attempt to help myself slow down and reset. While I was beginning to process and heal from grief, and the new job was godawfully boring much slower, I still wasn’t close to feeling like my “old” self or gaining any sort of traction with consistent workouts, healthy eating, writing goals — any of the things I value and make me feel like ME.
And it was super super demoralizing.
They (I have a bone to pick with this ubiquitous They ok) say to trust the timing of your life and that you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be and when you’re ready the teacher appears and like ok sure, fine, makes sense, but also miss me with your patchouli-wreathed platitudes when all I want is to make some progress or break out of this cycle of feeling like garbage.
This past September / October I reached a saturation point. I did not could not see how I was ever going to feel energized again. Forget kicking ass and taking names. I felt like I was only just treading water — only just trying not to drown. My burnout had come knocking and was not going to let me move on until I truly accepted it.
So, not being in the position to fuck off to Canyon Ranch for a month, I did the next best thing and asked my boss if I could work from home instead of commuting via truck routes to an industrial park wasteland in the swamps of Jersey. I explained what the past two years have looked like and that I just needed some time to settle. Thankfully, my copywriting job 100% does not require my presence in an office being a kind human, she agreed to let me work from home for three months.
Flooded with relief at the thought of so much more flexibility and space in my days, naive little Daedalus set about making her plan. THE Plan — to get me back to my fighting weight, feeling fit and strong, to not subsisting on wine and taquitos kicking ass at meal prep, writing novel upon novel… ad infinitum ad nauseum. While I viscerally knew that I needed time to reset and “get back to myself”, I failed to realize what that actually meant in terms of resetting and getting back to myself.
And, what it ACTUALLY meant was: doing absolutely fucking nothing.
November, December, and January were minimally productive with fits and starts of consistency and even more humbling lessons on letting go. It’s taken these months of working from home and having the space to slow down to realize just how much I am not who I was. But also that that’s ok. It’s only been in the last few weeks that I have finally felt a glimpse of energy coming back. That genuine desire to *start* kicking ass and taking names again. And, actually for real, not me bullying myself into it like I had been.
And to get to this place I had to give myself permission to:
take the nap
be a sloth on the couch
read fiction in the morning
skip the workout
wear pajamas all day
not worry about morning or evening routines
watch Parks and Rec on the treadmill after work to get some form of movement in
not be where I once was
not set goals to be where I once was
let go of being disappointed in myself that I had not lost pandemic/grief weight and wasn’t in the best shape of my life for my wedding(s) like everyone on the internet is
not feel guilty for not being consistent here or in any of my writing
redefine, edit, refine
simply exist and figure it out one day, one meal, one walk, one post at a time.
It is my tendency to try to fix everything instantly, cramming it into some kind of 21-day reset 6-week transformation, but if there is anything I’ve learned in the past year is that in order to really heal, to really grow, make lasting change — and return to oneself — is that you need to go so much slower. Because, when you experience the Things that shake you to your core, your brand of resilience changes.
You recover, yes, but that pain does not disappear. It becomes woven into this gorgeous new version of yourself that is more complex, with richer dimensions, and asks you to become more, want more, love more — give yourself grace more. You no longer have the option of returning to four years ago you, or even three weeks ago you. And there’s so much magic in that if you allow it. Because you will return to this new version of yourself: someone who might be a little battle-weary, but is just as worthy and so SO excited to show you what they got.
So GD proud (in a not creepy, condescending way).
ILYSM. (In kind of a creepy way 😘🖤)