My body hurts.
I think at least in part, it’s the weight of holding things up for the past 10+ weeks, and so I share this because I know I’m not the only one.
It began as a lot of little things, and it was mostly online ordering, so I could trick my brain into thinking it was fun.
But there were no beans to be had. I requisitioned 4 rolls of bamboo toilet paper, but was told shipping might take longer than expected. It did. Almost 5 weeks. And now somehow that feels like eons ago.
Then came the Search for Alcohol Pads, but that was about more than alcohol pads. My husband got mysteriously sick, and doctors tried to treat it remotely, but for 6 weeks he was misdiagnosed.
His doctor finally pushed, and got him into a wonderful allergist, who said she was happy to see him:
“When I saw your chart, I said – if I can’t get to this, this kid is going to end up in some shi**y place like the ER.”
I instantly loved her – for calling my 46-year-old husband a kid, for calling me “Mrs. Shawn” as I used my husband’s phone video feature to show her the welts all over his body; but mostly for calling the ER the s-word.
Sometimes a well-placed swear word can really endear me to someone. What can I say?
~::~
Overperforming and underperforming
I was listening to Brene Brown’s podcast recently, and she talked about how in times of anxiety, people tend to underperform or overperform.
Oh, I thought.
That explained a lot, including my daughter’s hospital stay last year at this time. All day I would hold everything together, taking careful notes not just so I could compare what each doctor said and effectively manage her care, but also so I could be sure we sent each nurse a thank-you note.
And then at night, after she was asleep, in my little roll-away, I would sob unrelentingly until I could barely breathe, only to get up the next day and perform again – fluffing pillows, making lists, running home for quick showers.
Combining the information in that podcast episode with something my friend Kortney reminded me of this week, that you teach people how to treat you, was enough to send my system into temporary overdrive.
I hopped in the bath with more World War II fiction and wondered for a moment how long one can stay in a tub before it becomes really worrisome, or one sprouts a fishtail.
Retreat (Hiding)
It’s just too hard to hold it up; hold it together. And so I’ve retreated.
I signed off of social media for a while, and told myself that the quiet would do me good. Then I started reading Deep Work by Cal Newport and wondered if I have been doing it wrong, this whole time.
This week I signed back on to Instagram and within a few minutes was so overwhelmed blocking bots and creepers that I deleted the app again and decided I was moving to a monastery.
I did that once. Just for a weekend.
I finished writing my book, and took long walks and talked to nuns and learned about Sister Joan Chittister.
She’s now one of the resources in what I’ve been calling my Mom’s Morning Basket – a market tote I’ve filled with books and a journal and pens and book darts, of course.
Every morning now I write two pages, and then dive into my basket for a while, preferably outside, but at least here, God or Mother Nature or Al Roker is trying to cleanse this virus away with rain.
Maybe it’s even working. Things are staying level, and the governor is talking about re-opening towards the end of the month.
Part of me can’t wait, and the other part of me (the part ruled by clinical anxiety and overperforming and a brain that thinks it can outthink everything if I just worry about it enough) feels too afraid to step outside my door for more than a short walk.
During the past 10 weeks, I’ve become a hoarder or pasta sauce and peanut butter. I’ve watched my kids become nocturnal; myself crepuscular.
I’ve thrown every tool I have at my anxiety and still, my shoulder, back and neck muscles feel like I’ve been lifting cars.
I’ve run away from social media and had a career existential crisis.
But can I share a weird secret? Part of me thinks that I’m getting closer to who I am meant to be.
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So much of this resonates in me. I’m throwing everything I have at my anxiety, so obviously I don’t have pandemic anxiety (I told myself smugly). So why does my jaw hurt from clenching it all the time, and where are these headaches coming from? And seriously, why do we have so much pasta and so little sauce? May all of your internet trolls go far, far away, and never come back. Thanks for sharing with us!
Kara, thank you so very much for sharing this. All I can say (since you couldn’t see me nodding my head and holding my heart while I read this) is YES! So much, Yes! I’m terrified of this situation lasting any longer but also terrified at the thought of leaving the house when it doesn’t. Thank you for sharing this and helping some of us recognize this in ourselves.
Oh Kara, and this my Sister (I am adopting you) is why we love reading what YOU have to say because you are real, honest and vulnerable. No pretending here. As a mom with an adult child and two younger still at home, I can say, keep that lovely Morning Basket going so it can refresh you, keep your mind open and listening to those quiet voices/messages of those like Sister Joan, and know that you are being faithful (never perfectly though!) which is the opposite of trying to be successful (what the world wants to see) – that will always make us feel like we are not measuring up and love yourself exactly how you are.
THAT’S what’s going on with my neck and shoulders! I mean, duh, but sometimes it takes someone else’s experience shared out loud to help us realize these things. In 10 weeks I’ve learned I must rest. I can go go go and build enormous pressure on myself to get ALL THE THINGS DONE ALL AT ONCE and its just too much during the best of times. lists and action are how I deal with my anxiety- but what I need is rest. Sometimes even reading is too much. It’s gotta be a hot bath, or netflix bingeing, laying on the couch cuddling kids.
Thank you for sharing =).
I am grateful for you. Thank you for writing, I feel both seen and not alone when I read your words. You speak for yourself, your experience, your thoughts, but you make available comfort, truth, hope and courage for others. I hope and pray all this goodness boomerangs back around to you!
I’m so thankful for this post, Kara, so thankful for you and everything you bring to my life. I hate this about myself, but I wish I could run over to your house right now and leave a big box of the best teas, chocolates, and good books for your Mama Morning Basket and those things would fix what you’re going through. But it wouldn’t work, would it? and that’s not what you’re asking for, is it? You’ve shared this to GIVE – and give is exactly what you’ve done – to me (as usual). THANK YOU!!
I love that you’ve shared this with us. It helps more than I can say. I wonder if I overperform AND underperform when I’m going through anxiety. Is that even possible? It sure would help explain some of the weird things I’ve been feeling guilty for lately… overperforming on the dumb stuff and underperforming where it really counts. Hmmm….
Thank you, lady – for everything. I can’t wait to see how strong this makes you and how many people you’ve helped by sharing on the other side.
Kara, you have a gift for being so open about yourself. Even though we only met once (when you came to speak at our little homeschool conference in Apex, NC, last summer) I can hear your voice when I read your words and I feel like we’ve been life long friends. Thank you for being you and being real!
Beautiful post!