Camping

"... sometimes special people come into our lives, stay for a bit and then they have to go... But the bit where they were here was happy, wasn't it? Maybe that makes it all worth it?"

I'm trying to work through some things. This is not a blog post that will be logical or follow my usual essay-like pattern. This is a post to process.

I moved to a new state and city 16 years ago. I had a few friends in the area, and never really felt connected to the city in which I had just lived. Nor did I feel particularly connected to the place I grew up. I missed my old friends, but I didn't miss the area. Or maybe I didn't miss the memories.

I moved into a fourplex apartment building in what some might consider a rough neighborhood. But to me, it felt like home. It felt like a fresh start. But despite having a few friends in the area, it felt lonely too. 

Shortly after moving in, my next door neighbor Iain introduced himself. I could tell right off the bat that Iain was a character. He had this big personality. I knew immediately that I liked him. He was always working on the building grounds; working in the yard to plant or place beautiful plants or decorations. He wasn't hired to do that, he just loved making the world beautiful. He loved working with plants and gardens. He loved showing pride in the space where he lived. He had such a beautiful apartment. My cat Stewie became quick friends with Iain's dog Jaques. 

Iain could also tell that I was struggling financially, trying to make my new life work. He gave me things to spruce up my apartment, and took me out to lunch. He was so inviting, and I really felt like he had taken me under his wing. 

The summer after I moved in, Iain organized this whole building party in the back yard of the apartment. I thought it was just going to be the residents and friends having a small gathering with a few drinks, but Iain made it into such an amazing event. He bought a pool for us to utilize, and built a Tiki stand with light decorations, and oh the food. He put together so much food, recruiting me and another person new to the building to set it all up. I had never experienced something so fun, put together in such a short time.

That same year at Thanksgiving, I couldn't afford to go home. Iain found out and invited me and a few of my friends to join him and another friend at their house. Iain didn't blink an eyelash at helping host a group of young people. The whole evening was so warm and special to me.

In short, Iain filled my lonely world with light and color and beauty. At the end of my year lease, Iain and I both moved out of the apartment building, going our separate ways. But we always promised to keep in touch. And we did touch based a couple of times...

But, at this point, it's been a long time since I've seen Iain. I've kept up with him on social media, and I've done what I could to help support him during his health struggles in the past few years. But we never got a chance to reconnect like we'd always planned. Life always seemed to get in the way. And now, he's gone. He's gone, and I don't have a way to say that I'm so sorry that I didn't make the time. I'm so sorry that I took for granted some future space where everything just worked out, and he would get to meet my kids. He would get to see that he played a role in how much I loved living here. If it hadn't been for Iain's kindness the first year that I lived here, I'm not sure I would have stayed.

I guess there's still a part of me that believes in fate. There were so many contributing factors that lead to me moving here. But Iain will always be part of why I stayed. And for that, I will always be grateful. Iain, I hope you are at peace. I hope that you know that you are loved. I hope you know that you will be missed. And I hope one day, we will meet again. 

Do You Believe in Magic

I have an anxious five year old. I'm not sure when the anxiety started exactly, but I can't help but wonder if the pandemic starting when she was two years old didn't play a significant role. In our attempt to help her anxiety around TV shows and movies in particular (she gets very anxious and asks us to turn off the program if there is anything remotely embarrassing or conflicting occurring), we often say things like "It's not real, it's okay because this isn't really happening." I think by doing this so often, we've inadvertently removed some of the magic from her childhood. Maybe that's a silly thing to worry about, and maybe not, but I've started to look for ways to make things more magical.

Yesterday, we went to a theme park, and encountered two of her favorite characters (aka, people dressed up as her favorite characters in larger than life full body costumes making them seem like giant versions of her favorite cartoons). At first, she decided she did not want to meet them. But her three year old sister wanted to meet them. So my three year old and I waited in line, and just as we were about to meet the characters, my five year old changed her mind. It was so precious! They hugged, high-fived, and let us take an abundance of pictures. She seemed extremely happy and I was so happy for the opportunity. 

Last night as we were winding down and getting her into bed, we had our usual nightly chat. I asked her what her favorite part of the day was. She said going to the theme park and meeting her favorite characters, but then she paused and said "Yeah, but weren't those just people dressed up in costumes?" and I just froze. I wasn't sure what my next steps were going to be, but I said "What do you think?" She got a little frustrated and said "No, mom, I want you to tell me!" So I paused and took a deep breath. Was I really going to strip yet another magical moment from her childhood? But instead, I said something that I think satisfied both my desire to keep her childhood magical and her desire to have a complete response that was fun.

I said, "Sometimes more than one thing can be true at once. Places like <theme park> and Disney World are magical places. They're places where things can transform and magical, wonderful, things can happen; however, you have to believe in those things in order for them to happen. Kind of like how we know when we watch a movie that the actors are just actors, but the moment we're watching the movie they transform into those characters. It's called suspension of disbelief. So our inclination might be to disbelieve (or not believe) in something, but for a short period of time, we can choose to believe in the magic, which makes it more fun. So while the characters we met today may or may not have started out as people in costumes, when we're in a magical place, we choose to suspend our disbelief and that transforms them into those characters." me, pausing..."That was a whole lot of information I just put your way, does that make sense or do you need more?" 

Thoughtfully, she paused herself and said "That makes sense."

"So do you think you actually met <character> and <character>?"

"Yes, yes I did" she said smiling.

"So just remember, more than one thing can be true at once, and we can also choose to suspend our disbelief to participate in the fun and magic of the places we visit."

She nodded and rolled over to go to sleep.

So maybe I didn't 100% put magic into the day, but hopefully with her analytical brain, I was able to make things a little more magical for her. Sometimes, I'm just so surprised by the things she asks me that I don't have a way to explain them in the moment. Sometimes I say "You know honey, I'm just not prepared to talk to you about this right now. Do you think you could ask me another time?" and she almost always says yes. But I'm pleased with the way this conversation went. 

I'm also just blown away at the way she considered everything, and even asking about the characters just being people in costumes. I think when I was older than her age I might have thought the characters at theme parks were odd, but I don't think it would have occurred to me that they were just people in costumes. She's so smart, and has such an interesting way of looking at the world. I simply want to enable her to have a fun and magical childhood. I want to let her be a child as long as possible, while still fostering her incredibly creative yet analytical mind. I know I don't always get it right, but yesterday was a good day. 

Panic At the Disco

 

As I sit here waiting to leave my house to hop on a flight for the first time in over 5 years, I can't help but... panic. Like, just full on, panicking. Breathing techniques are not touching this. What do I do with this feeling? Well, blog about it of course. Let's fucking break this down into tiny pieces, pull back the layers; and hopefully by the time I'm through, I'll leave for the airport in a slightly better state than what I am in at this moment.

I've been an anxious flyer for a long time. Initially, I think it boils down to control and surprise. I'm not a pilot. I'm not flying the plane. I can't control what the plane is going to do, or where it's ultimately going to go. I'm just along for the ride. As much as I hate to admit it, I hate not being in control. And not only do I not to get to control or see the path forward, but I don't get to control when I get to drink next or eat a flight approved (and let's face it, not likely gluten free, so I'll be waiting much longer) snack, or even I get to get up and go to the bathroom. It's all at someone else's discretion.

Now for the surprise. SURPRSE! I hate turbulence. I mean, who likes turbulence? It's an unexpected drop or swerve, or large movement that you can't anticipate in anything other than a "this may happen on this flight" sort of sense. However, my hate streams more from my personal extreme sense of "OH SHIT, I'M GOING TO FUCKING DIE" whenever there's turbulence. I also think that I have a rather sensitive... I'm not sure what... system? Brain? Stomach? All of the above? While everyone else on the plane seems to go "well, this is rather inconvenient, better put my seatbelt on", I'm bent over feeling like my stomach has been launched into my throat; trying desperately to avoid screaming. I also hate roller coasters. That slight feeling of weightlessness is terrifying to me. Bad news, I don't think I'm going to ever be an astronaut. 

Now, let's take a step back and dive in even deeper to that "OH SHIT, I'M GOING TO FUCKING DIE" feeling I get. I mean, that's truly the heart of it, right? I'm terrified of dying. I'm scared shitless that I'm going to die and all of this whole existence will be snapped away. Furthermore, I'm afraid of dying and that there's literally nothing next - at least no conscious "next". Further, furthermore, I'm afraid of dying and traumatizing my kids the same way I was traumatized when my dad died when I was a young child. It really does often boil down to my kids and never wanting for them what I had.

I think I'm also a bit more anxious for this flight than in the past because this is the first time that I will have ever been away from my kids (except for during the work day). That has a bit to do with it. I'm already missing them and I haven't even left yet. 

I need this. I need a break. I need the mental break from both my day job and the complexities and needs of everyone around me all of the time at home. And it's just a weekend. It's just three days, only two of which I'll be gone from morning to night. 

But I'm a little sick thinking about not waking up with them every morning or being there at night to see them to bed. Maybe this will get easier as they get older, but for now, they need me and I feel like I'm abandoning them a little bit. They will be fine with their other parent of course, and their other parent has certainly been away from the kids for extended periods more than once. And there's ways to chat with my kids while I'm gone (thank you technology); but that doesn't take away from the notion that I'm also a little terrified something bad will happen while I'm not with them too. 

And now I think I've just managed to peel away another layer. Because that's part of this too. I'm terrified something will happen when I'm not around to be there for my family. And I know the why already. There's no surprises there - I've lost so many people that I'm often terrified of when I'll lose someone else. And that has only intensified with having kids. 

And there it is. I really thought the fear of my own death was going to be the final layer there. But it's more that I'm afraid of loosing the people that I love. There's some part of me that thinks that if I can just control everything around me enough (going back to that control layer), I can keep everyone safe. And that's just not how life works. However, getting my rational and irrational part of my brain to get on the same page for this... it's unlikely to happen. I've accomplished a lot in the past couple of years of counseling. But I don't think I'm ever going to stop being terrified of losing someone else.

Well, that concludes this episode of, I'm having a panic attack. Time for some more breathing exercises and mantras. 

NYE 2022 Post

 Happy New Year's Eve!

Ah yes, it's time for another episode of "Danielle writes a long-winded New Year's Eve post." As I write this, I am running a fever and feeling overall not my best, so maybe this year's NYE post will come with a side of loopiness.

Each year the last several years, I look back on my prior long-winded posts from NYE - they are typically thoughtful, introspective, and mention that while I enjoy setting intentions for the new year, I don't necessarily make solid resolutions. I think reframing how I go into the new year with intentions also seems to help me achieve those intentions. So here goes.

As the new year approaches, I intend to start off with a sense of wonder, and a sense of opportunity for new beginnings. While every day is an opportunity to start over, I do enjoy the sense of so many of us collectively starting anew.

As always, as I continue to work on my mental health, I intend to stay as present as possible in my every day life - enjoying the moments with my kids, little and big, fun (and well, not so fun), laugher, tears... everything. Because even when it's hard, being present in the here and now is still better for me than perpetually being stuck in the past, or worrying about the things I can't control in the future. I don't want to go through life focusing on what I've done wrong, especially in situations where there is no way to right those wrongs. My intentions going into the New Year are being present and positive.

In terms of being present, I'd also like to make sure that I'm more thoughtful capturing those moments. Last year, I took a ton of pictures. I mean a TON of pictures. But I realized as I combed through the pictures over this year that I hadn't taken many (or asked for many) pictures of myself with my family. I can't explain why that occurred more this year vs. prior years. But it was a trend that spoke to me in my tendency to disappear into myself at times - like I'm an observer, but I'm not really experiencing the moments. So I would like to take less pictures randomly, and more pictures at thoughtful moments - in short, I want to hide behind the camera less and just be there with my family instead. I still want and certainly will, take way too many photos; however, I'm hopeful by setting the intention to be more present that I'm actually experiencing those moments.

Lastly, I want to go into the New Year with an overall sense of contentment. As I'm writing this with a splitting headache, a cat snuggling on my lap, and my kids quietly playing in the room over, I'm grateful. This year was hard, do not mistake me. And I made mistakes. I struggled, though I often did not wish to share those struggles with those around me. But right now? Right now I'm content. Happiness, sadness, anxiety, those are just moments. They pass. What I strive for in between it all is just to be content with myself and where I'm at in life.

May you find contentment in the New Year. May you go into the New Year with a sense of new beginnings. And may you be gentle with yourself as you take stock and leave behind the past year.

Let's Talk About Poop, Baby

 

Let's talk about poop, baby. Let's talk about you and me. Let's talk about all the good things and the bad things that make me poopy. Let's talk abouuut Poop. Let's talk about poop.

Ok, now that I have that out of my system, or brain, or whatever, let's talk about "poop", specifically IBS (Irritable Bowel Syndrome - aka the generic term they give people with digestive issues when they can't really pin down a root cause). IBS is the only diagnosis I've ever officially been given for my stomach issues. I've had tests, blood draws, patch tests; I've had an endoscopy, and colonoscopy. And it all comes down to one thing - my body doesn't work they way it should, and I just have to deal with it as best as I can.

Yes, there are medications for IBS; however, they treat the symptoms, not the cause. They treat the constipation/bloating or they treat the diarrhea. Granted, I'm not a doctor, and perhaps in the 20+ years I've been dealing with this, they've come up with something better; however, these are my observations.

So some years ago, I decided that in light of having no medical options to treat my issues (other than toggling between meds to help me poop, and meds to stop allll the poop, my goodness there's a lot of poop in the human body), I started to try elimination diets to see what food triggers may be causing it. After a lot of trial and error, it seemed to boil down to gluten. I hate that it's gluten. If you don't have celiac or a wheat allergy, you aren't taken seriously when you have a gluten sensitivity. People assume that you are fad dieting. People are fucking judgmental about a lot of things, and as someone who loves to eat, this one was hard. So I cut out gluten from my life. I eliminated all points of cross contamination in my kitchen. I didn't go out to eat for a long time. And it's been... wonderful. At least in terms of no longer having extreme pain. I remember some nights being in so much pain, I was bent over, and could not force myself to stand up straight. I was in so much pain, I would sit on the toilet for an hour crying. I was in so much pain in my early 30's that my then boyfriend, now spouse, would ask to take me to the hospital (which I refused, but more on that later).

And now? The pain is gone. It seems like an even trade, take away gluten and the pain goes away (mostly, sometimes greasy food can have it's impacts, but nothing like gluten). But it is hard. Even if you meticulously read every ingredient on a product, even if you check the website for a product, sometimes, somewhere, there's unlisted sources of gluten - I've found this happens particularly with spices and shredded cheese. Even products that are listed as "gluten free" can be tricky. Hey, we took all the gluten out of this wheat product! Oh shit, I bet it's safe (it isn't).

So sometimes, I go out to eat again because again, I fucking love food. And most restaurants will work with me on a gluten free meal. But I usually give it about a 50/50 chance that what I'm eating might make me sick because cross-contamination is inevitable, even at the most cautious of restaurants (unless, they're entirely gluten free, but there's only a few places around here like that). It's a gamble. As long as I don't eat out too often, and plan for a little extra time on the toilet, a little cross contamination doesn't get me down at this stage in the game, usually. And then sometimes... sometimes, I really fuck myself over.

I took a shortcut for Christmas dinner. I typically make most of our food from scratch, but I really wanted to enjoy more time with my family and less time in the kitchen. So I bought a turkey breast in a bag so that all I had to do was put it in the oven, and wallah, easy main dish! I read all the ingredients on the bag. I checked for any red flags that may occur that don't necessarily spell out "they this has gluten!" and I went along my merry way. Boy, did I fuck up. The turkey breast was the only thing that I didn't make myself. It had to have been the turkey breast. The fucking spices. It came with spices already on it.

Anyways, so I think I've narrowed down the progression of when I am glutened, and I'm going to talk about it here because I can (and no one reads this anyways). It all boils down to poop. See, I think talking about poop is hilarious. It's something my kids and I have in common. But as a rational human being, I also know that poop is gross, and other adults do not want to hear about other peoples' poop. Oh well. 

Anyways, on the random chance that someone is reading this and does not want to read graphic detail about poop, stop now or forever hold your peace (or poop as it were). 

So, the first thing I noticed the day after consuming the gluten was feeling exhausted and sluggish. At first I was like, this is post holiday blues, or just general exhaustion from running around like a chicken with it's head cut off making meals and doing dishes for company for a few days in a row. I was constipated, but maybe I just didn't drink enough water with all that running around, plus I had some wine and maybe didn't drink enough water to offset the wine. Fine. I took a rest day (aside from feeding my family). 

But then the next day, I woke up with a migraine... and you may be thinking, "what does a migraine have to do with gluten?" Well, let's take a step back, one thing that didn't occur to me right away after going gluten-free is that my migraines just, went away. Instead of getting one every month or two, I only got them once or twice a year. Pretty nice little additional benefit, eh? I have no idea if it's really related to gluten or the fact that aside from the stress of having kids and owning a house, nothing could compare to the stress of being a poor 20-something working in customer service while being in credit card debt with a car breaking down every other week. So maybe just being in a better place in life with my career, financially, and interpersonally, it was just a  stress thing. And yet, day two after being glutened, one hit me like a pile of bricks being hurled at my skull.

Now, the next big fun thing about being glutened is that my lower GI seems to come to a grinding halt. I'm talking constipation, I'm talking trapped gas and cramping, I'm talking sitting on a toilet for half an hour at a time begging my body for a little drop of poop to escape from my rectum. And when it does, it's heavily coated in sludge, and still manages to rip open my asshole. I'm pretty sure when my body does this, it's somehow trapping the gluten and making it impossible to escape. GET OUT!

On top of the terrible constipation Tuesday and the migraine, and I was super fucking nauseas. And what does one do for nausea? Well for me, it's carbs. And guess what doesn't help constipation? Fucking carbs - even gluten free ones.

At the constipation stage, I also have to remind myself that it will pass (literally) because if I try to do anything, ANYTHING, to mitigate that symptoms, I will regret it. Unless the pain becomes so severe that I can't help but do anything otherwise, I do not take anything to help with the constipation. because it just makes the next stage so much worse. If I can just hold out for a few days, it's better in the long run.

Anyways, fortunately, I started feeling better from the migraine by yesterday because whoo boy do I have a lot of work to do this week before the year ends. Guess what also triggers IBS? STRESS! But, I feel kind of fortunate because today, I've magically been whisked to the next stage of being gluttoned a bit ahead of schedule - diarrhea! 

Now you might be thinking, isn't that also painful and also inconvenient? YES! Yes it is. But, at least it means that things are moving, and hopefully clearing whatever else is left in my system still making me feel sick as fuck.

So yes, the next stage is the diarrhea. It's not fun, running to the bathroom every hour in a panic thinking that this time I may be too late (yeah, it's happened, I've pooped myself more times than I'd like as an adult and it just is what it is). In fact, eventually, if the constipation hasn't already shredded my asshole, the constant onslaught of liquid-ey, and yet lumpy, poop-juice every hour most certainly does. My poor asshole has been through some shit in my 41 years of life, literally and figuratively. But at least at this stage in the game, something is coming out, including all the gas that has been trapped behind the constipated poop capsules. 

And that's why I never take anything for the constipation stage. While the diarrhea stage is awful, if I break down and take something for the constipation stage, the diarrhea stage is so much more miserable, and longer too. It truly is amazing how much poop lives inside the human body. I'm talking poop-juice filled toilets for days. I'm talking so much poop that my body may or may not decide that throwing up is a fair alternative to allowing my food to digest fully. And my goodness, if there's one thing I hate more than the initial symptoms of being glutened, it's fucking throwing up. 

When I was in my 20's and my stomach issues were at their worst, I used to throw up here and there for no apparent reason other than my stomach was fucking terrible. This was when I first started trying to have my stomach issues examined. They didn't find any ulcers (although there are future-ulcer spots in my stomach just waiting to bloom into life - joy), they didn't find anything concerning - they told me that I needed to get my anxiety under control (so I did, but it still didn't help my IBS). But every so often I would be at work taking a call or attempting to walk into a meeting, and would suddenly find myself hurling towards any available receptacle (usually a trashcan), and tossing all of my cookies. I almost never made it to the bathroom. Anyways, that's another nice little kick-back of going gluten free. Aside from the random stomach bugs that hit our house since having children, I haven't randomly thrown up in nearly a decade.

And that takes us to the final stage of being glutened - the recovery. Once my body has pooped out every drop and expelled sooo much fucking gas, I stop feeling crampy and nauseated, and then I get a little constipated again (not terribly constipated, but it's like my body is like, woah, hold up, we need to build up some of this poop reserve after so much loss). But my stomach just feels... tender for a while. Like, my stomach has gone through some shit (ha! literally), and needs some extra loving care. It doesn't hurt per say, but it just feels sore and a little grumpy.

What does the extra loving care look like? Bland foods mostly. Eating at home exclusively for a few weeks. More veggies, less carbs. Trying to drink a little less coffee, and when I do drink it, lost of creamer. Cutting out other things that sometimes I'm sensitive to like greasy foods, processed foods, processed sugar, and if I can stand it, dairy (I love cheese, but admittedly, my stomach is at it's best when I don't consume it).

So there you are, that's the scoop (or the poop if you will). It's a fucking trial every time I get some kind of excessive gluten exposure. So the next time you go to a restaurant with your gluten-sensitive friend or family member, and their questions seem extensive, try to have a little bit of patience. We're just trying to avoid being sick for fucking days. Like, it can make us literally sick as fuck for several days. Who would willingly sign up for that? Just, please be patient, and please please please, take it seriously. Don't tease us, don't make us feel any more awkward than we already feel for being the person that has to ask all the questions in a public place. No matter how much work I do ahead of time (checking for a gluten free menu or items on the menu, calling ahead for their gluten-sensitive protocol, and pretty much deciding ahead of time what I'm going to eat), I still have to talk to the wait staff, or otherwise just deal with getting sick.

Happiness is just a moment

 

It wasn't out of nowhere, this feeling, missing you, and finally breaking down and crying. It had been building inside of me for a long time. It started at the beginning of September with Suicide Awareness Month, and continued through Facebook memories of when we found out we had lost you. I cried then, in September, thinking that's what I needed. But it was still there, the grief, sitting in my back of my mind waiting for me to see it, and spill over all over again. 

And just now, in a moment of attempting to relax while my brain feels like it's splitting apart, rubbing my beyond tense neck and shoulders, the grief came pouring out again. It was missing you, all over again. It was that sense that you should be here, but that you still aren't. I know that there's part of me that will always hang on, some odd sense of hope that this was a mistake and that I'll see you again. What is it about this specific grief that is so unwilling to get to the "acceptance" phase. 

Once again, I recognize that I do not desire to reach that phase. It seems kind of silly in a way... logically I know that grief isn't linear, and that one doesn't just reach a phase just because one feels as though they should. I know that we can slip in and out of these so-called phases too. I know that you are gone... and yet... I think the hardest moments come from that self-perpetuating sense of hope. I expect you to be here, so when I think about not being a phone call away, it's just... no, I'm still trying to logic my way out of this one, and there is no logic here. It's just me, sad as fuck that you aren't here and trying to convince myself that I can be over it... but I'm not. I'm sad and I'm alone with my thoughts, so it's hitting me and I need to allow myself to feel this. That's one truth that I know for certain... if I keep shoving down the feelings as I'm so prone to do, they will in fact keep resurfacing in the worst possible ways. I just need to allow myself this moment. It's just a moment, and it will pass. But for now, I need to feel sad.

Sometimes, Some Crimes, Go Slipping through the cracks

 Once again I've been slacking on the whole mental health stability side hustle I've been running... and by side hustle, I mean, a primary concern that I really need to keep at the forefront of my brain at all times (and at times, this need to make my mental health a priority falls by the wayside way too easily). So, this is me getting back on track. It's not like I have been fully putting my mental health aside. I still meditate every night before bed, and stop to take deep breaths every so often during the day. But I haven't been writing, which for some reason helps me process things. And checking in with myself overall, I've been more anxious than usual lately; complete with chest pressure/tightness/occasional pain. However, big however, there has been several changes to my routine, so logically I know it's situational too.... that being said, a big focus of mine in counseling is expanding my tolerance window so that I can roll with these types of changes. Sometimes, all the things I have to simultaneously keep in mind while also, you know, living my life, in of itself makes all of this hard. But one thing I know I've been letting slide again in particular is staying in the moment. My anxiety often stems from the spirals I can dive head first into instead of staying present. So what's the worst that could go wrong? I could forget to pick up my kid from the bus stop, or take her to the bus stop. I get so hyper-focused on what I'm doing at work sometimes, that I worry that if I don't constantly remind myself that I need to live in however many minutes, I'll loose track of time and forget. Never mind that I have a reminder on my work computer and my phone. Never mind that I have time blocked off so that I know when to leave. I know myself, and even if I have had weeks to get used to this new routine, I have the absolute hardest time sticking to a routine for some reason. It's infuriating. I absolutely need routine to stay on track, and yet it's like my brain completely rejects routine. I could do something the same way at the same time a hundred times no problem, and then every once and a while it's like, OH SHINY, and completely fall off track like a derailed train, going full speed into a ravine. I had a pretty big miss at work recently, so I'm also dealing with a shame-spiral. Everyone else has moved one, why can't I? Why can't I make mistakes without me feeling like a failure with no redemption available?

I also haven't been getting any exercise with the new schedule. I hate when someone talks about being anxious or having another mental or physical health challenge, and someone says "oh you just need to exercise!" The obvious baloney of that statement shouldn't even require comment, and yet, some people are just so fucking clueless. That being said, I do personally notice that exercise is a crucial component of my mental health management. There's no way that I could solely rely or exercise to manage things... or meditation, or journaling, or really any one thing by itself. It's always a combination of things that help me overall. And that goes back to the crux of my ability to manage this... it's just a lot to remember all of the time, especially with my "routine-rejection" obsessed... subconscious? I don't know where it comes from. It's like there's a whole other person living in a corner of my brain subtly sabotaging me from time to time. I've gotten pretty good over the years at shutting her down or quieting her to a tiny buzz, but occasionally she's a real fucking loud bitch, and I'm too tired to shut her out.

Ugh, there is no neat and tidy end to this post. Just me, exhausted and overwhelmed, and hopefully trying to work on staying present and journaling and getting some exercise... and finding time away from being a busy mom running around like a chicken with her head cut off for self-care... yeah.