Last week I wrote two posts that struck a nerve like a twanging guitar string (see what I did there… I done tried to invent a simile - though a poxy one at best!)
Added to that twanging nerve was an all encompassing depressed feeling I had developed while reading Anne Frank (same thing happened to a friend) and then the anxious feelings of the next book I attempted to read.
By the weekend - I was an absolute mess.
Plagued with consistent heartburn all day Saturday I took it easy, knowing this was a sign of my bodies response to too much stress and anxiety. By Sunday I felt a hundred times better and headed off to a morning of Art Journalling with the gals. As I painted and chatted, listened and drank coffee I could feel a peace descending over me. What is it about returning to childhood crafts that makes one so in tune with their minds and bodies?
After collecting my daughter I made the trek home and from the instant I jumped in the car, my heartburn started as did my racing heart. I fought it. I pushed it down. I told myself sternly that this morning I had been feeling wonderful what was so different now?
I drove home and pulled out my planner for the week ahead and as I stood staring at the blank pages before me, and hearing the words of all I had to do rushing in my head, bouncing over each other - I walked away. A long hot shower with some breathing exercises and I could feel myself losing grip.
When I walked out my hubby immediately freaked out "what's wrong with you - you look sick"
"I don't feel right. I feel I'm going to burs at the seams," says I.
So I sat on the lounge and I wrote. I wrote as it is the only way I know that can move thoughts and feelings from my head. Page after page I wrote. All handwritten and messy scrawl. I wrote about every little thing that was bothering me and as I did I could feel the tears prickling. Toward the final pages, a sense of peace started to settle over my body. My heart still racing, but it felt as though a kettle that finally blows its whistle as it boils. As I finally found words to talk to my hubby, my tears overflowed.
"Why are you crying mumma?"
"Because sometimes big girls need to cry too."
I had spent the past few weeks belittling my feelings of worry, squashing down the anxiety ridden waves in my gut, forcing my way on through the myriad of "to-do" lists and by the weekend my body screamed its protest. STOP WOMAN!
So I stopped. I wrote and cried it out. I went from feeling like a rubber band stretched taut to a liquified mess of limbs. I was utterly exhausted and lay upon the lounge staring at the TV before traipsing my way to bed.
Yesterday I decided to ignore the "Must do's" on my list. Yesterday I wrote a small list of 5 things, I picked up my camera and walked out of the house and took 15 mins time out to walk along the waterfront. I did the groceries without a list and bought home more chocolate then real food and just enough fruit & veg to feed us a good wholesome meal last night. I ignored the floors that mocked me, I hid in my study and I painted. None of it looked any good but by the time School pick up rolled around I felt as though I had a handle on ME once more.
I even managed to fold 5 baskets of washing while watching a movie!
I've decided to face the rest of this week in much the same fashion and so far it is working. I am aiming to complete small tasks and not sweat the big stuff - surely it can wait till next week.
Sometimes life has a nasty way of becoming too overwhelming to cope with. Tomorrow my floors will be still there, still waiting to meet the vacuum - but today I am feeling like me.