Yesterday I hit my wall. I woke up still somewhat sleep deprived and as a result, down. I didn’t recognize it as tired at first because my mind has been warping me into diving down old rabbit holes left and right, but tired for me is the plague – I can’t function as well, I’m not as patient or nice, I’m unclear and extra vulnerable, and as a result unfair to myself and to you when I am. It’s not for lack of effort in trying to get enough sleep, but logistics. I doubt I need to list them for you.
I went out for my run abusing myself, in my head about how I live my life off of a metric system, quantifying and timing everything. I started to write the story that I am a fraud and not good enough because I use metrics to guard much of my life instead of always intuitively knowing. I time my meals – I eat on a schedule, not so much on a sensational basis. I time my sleep – not so much when I feel tired, but when it’s time to get into bed so I have a fighting chance of getting my sleep needs met. I measure my food – every morsel. I measure my running – I have my cadence map, heart rate, and timer. I quantify my results at work, in spreadsheets, and measure the calls I make and the number of contacts. It seems that I do almost everything with a timer in mind, instead of what “feels right”.
And so I ran, experimentally with just my timer. I tried to listen to my footfall and my breathing, check in with myself and my body. I slowed down when it seemed too aggressive, and relaxed when I felt tense. After most runs, I am delightfully calm and clear. I never take my phone or listen to music, so I can really tune into the world around me and myself. It’s a soothing rhythm to listen to my feet and my breath, especially alongside the water or with birds and trees in the background. I take the time to listen to my thoughts, to have dialogue with just myself about whatever it is I’m stewing and can usually see quite easily how one-sided that stew is and unrealistic.
But yesterday I came back crying. I came back crying because I couldn’t get out of my own way. I was deflated. I am so willing to do things differently in all areas of my life, and in the moment was torn about my truth. I was taking a snapshot and turning it into my reality. I was trying to run without my watch and as it turns out it’s harder than I appreciate, and I was also just thinking. Thinking about what I’ve been sharing and how I’ve been pointing the finger at Mike, wanting him to be the cause of my distress so that he could fix it. The truth is that he isn’t the cause, and he can’t fix it. He’s not supposed to. No one person can fix what is happening right now. No one person can be responsible for my happiness or my joy. No one person has the power to make me feel anything but what I unconsciously allow them.
I have been quantifying our relationship. I’ve been counting times we’re intimate and how affectionate we are (which by a general rule I am not) in order to try and combat the demonic voice in my head that tells me I’m worth it if it’s frequent. I’ve been counting in order to prove that I am enough. When instead of just listening and going with the flow and acknowledging how many beautiful parts make up a (and our) relationship, I’ve been letting the smallest sliver drive the entire show. I’ve been letting my fear appear real.
After I bottomed out and acknowledged myself, it started to occur to me that there is nothing wrong with living by metrics. Because of living with and largely by metrics, I am responsible, organized, disciplined, and productive. I am all of these things not only because it has been ingrained in me and is part of my genetic makeup, but because it gives me a sense of security to adhere to a way of living and being that feels safe. And it works. It’s not that I can’t be spontaneous or that I can’t go with the flow, but I have learned how to take care of myself in a certain way that by and large works every day. And I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. If you have found a way of living that works, by all means, live that way! The Universe always shows us ways to adapt and mold, and we are all being asked to do a lot of that right now. It doesn’t make our old ways of doing things wrong or bad, but it gives us ability to stretch and flex and take stock. We need to be kind. I need to be kind.
I prefer to eat every few hours because it keeps me sane. Yes, it took years to learn that if it spanned to 5 or more hours that I wouldn’t starve, but for the most part eating regularly prevents me from eating out of a trash can later. I go to bed early because I know that if I get into bed, write and read, by the time I have come down it’ll be long enough that I will be ready for bed, knowing I have 9-11 hours ahead to get enough sleep. I use my watch to run because I have been trained to do that. RPE is great, once you practice enough and I intend to practice and I intend to be able to rate my perceived exertion more accurately, but I am not less of an athlete or a fitness enthusiast if I need my watch to tell me where to be (since I don’t want to listen right now anyway).
So why did I even get onto this topic? Because everything around me is out of control. We’re not allowed to go see our friends or families (if we’re adhering to increasingly stringent directions). We’re not allowed to hug or sit close or relax with our friends in close quarters (unless we already live with them, but other than those sharing our homes and maybe our beds). The economy is sinking and will continue to sink, which affects more businesses than mine but absolutely affects mine too. I can’t see my mom. I can’t predict the end of this. I am an extrovert who recharges as an introvert, but my God, I am losing myself. So, thinking that changing things that I can control as a way out right now makes perfect sense to me.
It’s what I used to do with my body. It’s what I used to do with diet and exercise. It’s what I used to do in my relationships. It’s what I used to think was helpful, safe, and predictable. But years of practicing otherwise have taught me that isn’t true. I’ve learned that the more I try and change things that aren’t mine to change, the more I suffer. The more I try and cocoon myself away from feeling uncomfortable and scared, the more enveloped in the problem I become. The more I wrestle with what is, the more I detach from what actually is, and that I am OK.
It’s not Mike, or our relationship. Nobody has changed, we just see a lot more of one another now. And because I am reeling, I seek an easy solution seemingly right in front of me to feel better. And it’s not true. Because I am not changing my body aside from the changes that will occur naturally, it’s an easy target. I’m saying “it” instead of “he” because I know that it isn’t him. It’s not Mike.
It’s my disease. And because my disease speaks to me in my own voice, it’s damn hard to articulate sometimes. I bet it’s choking you out right now too, only you may not even realize it.