Beating Myself Up

The night before last I was exhausted.  I was bone tired.  I did bedtime stories with a flat, listlessness to my voice that I had never heard before.  I got up from Levi’s room, and while I cannot even recollect the walk to my bed, I can only imagine that I dragged myself there.  I laid face-down.  It was an effort to pick up my arm and remove my glasses.  They laid next to me on the bed because I couldn’t even get them to the nightstand.

As tired as I was, I couldn’t sleep.  But you know what I could do?  Beat myself up.

Yup.  As I laid there so drained of energy that I couldn’t walk down the stairs to finish cleaning up the kitchen or get to the sink to brush my teeth, my brain found just enough juice to tell me that I needed to get up; that there was a mess left in the kitchen that needed my attention; that I had plans to do yoga (and that in the long-run yoga would make me feel better than lying face-down in bed); and that, on the whole, I was being a bad, lazy woman who was too weak to keep up the energy to do the basic things she needed to do to stay sane.  Then I sunk deeper, feeling certain that I would never have energy again and that if I just started allowing myself to run helter skelter (or simply lie there…) and do whatever — like lying in bed every night — then I would get used it, and that is all I would ever do, and therefore the kitchen would never be clean again and civilization as we know it would surely be over….

Who is in charge here?  Sheesh.  The stories were that night.

Last night:  I did dishes.  I sang the tooth brush song with gusto.  I read those bedtime stories like a staged production.  I vacuumed and mopped the kitchen floor.  I did yoga.  I helped Dawn make signs for work.  I read.  I slept.  (I did skip the gratitude journal because of sign making, however…).

So yeah, it turns out that I was just really extra tired the night before, and what I actually needed was sleep.  I am not sure how I can be 41 years old and still so unskilled at figuring that shit out, but I am.  I am also trying to get better at it, or least learn not to make myself feel so bad.  For me, the most important thing to try to keep in perspective is that “this” (whatever this might be in the moment — a “lazy” streak, an illness, a mood swing, a messy house, stress at work…) won’t last forever (well, except for maybe stress at work).  I can never see the light, and yet it has never failed to come for me.  If only I could put the energy into remembering this that I do into beating myself up….

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