“Good writing is slow. Deep writing is slower.”
I’ve reached the point in my life where I could be resting on my laurels and sipping a cold beverage on a tropical beach. My internal makeup doesn’t lean to resting on my laurels, though sitting on a warm sunny beach would be lovely. But there’s a hitch in my giddy-up.
My hitch is 98 years old. For the last several years, I’ve had to act as my mom’s banker/accountant/healthcare proxy/entertainer, etc. It’s easier now that she is in memory care, as she doesn’t question my every decision. The flip side is while she knows my name and that I’m her daughter, I’m not sure that circuit is complete.
As an individual who has a general anxiety disorder and severe clinical depression, there are days when it’s all I can do to keep my head above water. The added responsibilities, at times, completely overwhelm me. My two best supporters are lost to me now. They would listen without judgement and offer suggestions. More than that, they knew how I struggled each day despite working hard to maintain my equilibrium.
You know, I never imagined writing a public blog in which I’d discuss my health issues. Never.Ever.In.A.Million.Years. But, here I am. My intent when I first began blogging over 15 years ago was to practice and to showcase my writing skills. Situations have a way of morphing into something else.
In the last several years, I’ve learned an enormous amount about my own self. My growing up years were fraught with challenges many never have to face. So be it. I offer no excuses. I offer empowerment. I offer perseverance. I offer strength.
Over the years I’ve been told by several people that in sharing my own “speed bumps,” it has given others hope and/or courage. I find that gratifying and it gives me a further sense of purpose.
Let’s be real. There are many, many folks dealing with tremendously challenging situations. Mine, in large part, are manageable. The crux of the matter is due to the need my mental health issues ask of me, it leaves little left for the maintenance of my physical health and vice-versa. In my head I can still do most anything. The reality that I battle to accept is that I cannot. And this acceptance is most difficult to embrace.
Just as acceptance of a mental health diagnosis over forty years ago felt like a scarlet letter had been engraved in my forehead (the letter ‘n’ for nuts), acknowledgement of life’s shifting realities is difficult to grasp.
I will state again that my illnesses are “invisible” illnesses. It’s not as though I’m sporting a cast or have a huge scar. Many of us in this situation just want to be treated as we always were; therefore, we go to great lengths to pretend we are just as we always were. What does that cost us? It means our down time must be spent in recovery mode so we are able to get up the next day and do it all over again.
At a series of events recently, I was mortified with myself because I’d become that old, overweight person who was wheezing. In breaking it down, I came to terms that I’d kind of given up on my conditioning after a severe bout of anemia where my iron levels took over two years of transfusions and infusions to stabilize and return to normal levels. Then I had a knee replacement. I worked hard at physical therapy and gained a stable knee as a result.
Though I’d done many different water exercises, I was not able to kick in the manner I was accustomed, so I gave up on swimming laps. For the first time, I quit something that was very meaningful to me. Because of this, walking any distance became a challenge. Instead of pushing through it as I usually did, I gave up on it. And I’m paying the price.
So I’m going to stop beating up on myself and next week I will begin a course of physical therapy designed for reconditioning and strength purposes. It’s going to be hard. I can do hard as long as I can keep all three balls in the air. If one falls, it upsets my equilibrium in a big way. Everything goes bust and I start from scratch. I’ve done this many times and I will do it again.
My goal is one of continued self-discovery. In order to pursue it, I need to be in far better shape. It’s just that simple and it’s just that difficult. And it works because I’ve worked it. As for my weight, that will be discussed separately. There’s a solution. As always, it is impacted by some of my other limitations. More on that another time.
If you knew me decades ago and described me as kind and funny, that is still who I am. It’s just that I’m dedicated to being able to put one foot in front of the other and that effort requires a majority of my waking time. In the bits and pieces of time I grab for actual enjoyment, I’m still in awe of nature’s beauty, in awe of words, in awe of music.
“I know what it means to hide your heart/From a long time ago…./It keeps you runnin,’ yeah, it keeps you runnin’…. Doobie Brothers
We all know a single word may have several meanings. For decades, I misinterpreted these lyrics. Now I understand. More on words with several meanings at a later time. I’m busy navigating a path.
