So I’ve realized I’ve been thinking that the writing that mattered was a well thought out, linear (and hopefully well received) piece, be it a blog post, published article, or book. It’d have a solid idea, interesting anecdotes, and other supporting details (impeccably placed, of course). But if a piece wasn’t like that? Junk.
I’m seeing that sometimes an interesting idea comes up and such a linear piece emerges (though I suppose the “well thought out” part is open to interpretation). Yet lots of times — my writing isn’t like that, and if I try to force it, the fun is zapped instantaneously.
As I’ve been doing more brain dumps, I see that I find them interesting. And perhaps the biggest reason that I don’t share a lot of the brain dumps is that I’m afraid of what someone might think (interesting where this fear keeps cropping up). So in the effort of challenging myself a bit (plus I’d bet it might comfort someone out there to discover that they aren’t the only crazy one with swirling thoughts), I’m going to share more of whatever comes up.
So for today, here is this morning’s 30 minute writing brain dump, unedited. Welcome to a crazy little section of my world. 🙂
Okay. Here I am at 9:54am. Sitting down for 30 minutes of writing. What to write about?
I have so many things that come to mind earlier, different topics and posts and things I think that will be well received and resonate — and then they seem gone. And maybe that is the point — I was thinking about them in the context of what to write for another to read. I’m not sure that is the point for me right now, with my writing. Right and write. Haha. Maybe this writing is for me. And I stretch it to grow myself, to help myself grow, to help myself. And if it helps another? That is a bonus.
I have to do it for me. I have to do everything for me, myself, I. I have and need to take care of myself first. And really take care of myself. Like sit down and pay attention taking care of myself.
I’ve been sick the past week and a half. I took it easy Mother’s Day weekend and woke up Sunday feeling quite a bit better — I woke up and knew I was feeling better — my throat had stopped hurting during the night and I could literally feel that I was feeling much better. Throat was better, headache was gone, congestion was less. I felt better. And then I tapered off my self-medicine ministrations: apple cider vinegar gargle, earlier to bed, essential oils. I hadn’t gone the garlic, neti-pot, and/or hydrogen peroxide in the ears route this time. I did continue to do some elderberry syrup — it was easy to do. And then after a couple of days, I started to feel worse again.
Over this past weekend, the congestion picked up a bit, as did a headache. Sunday and Monday, congestion pressure was there. It didn’t feel good. It hurt. I wasn’t feeling well. Yesterday I did elderberry syrup, garlic, apple cider vinegar gargle/drink, and then the essential oils mix before bed. Today, I woke up feeling a good chunk of the sinus pressure; it hurt when I was upside down in yoga. Kind of actually hurt. And then I remembered the neti-pot and hydrogen peroxide for the ears.
At first I thought that maybe I’d start that tomorrow, if I wasn’t feeling better. Then it hit me — what was I waiting for? Why wasn’t I actually taking the time to take care of myself?
If I do have a sinus infection, which I think is possible, it probably won’t be better in a day. It could even be worse. And I don’t want to end up on antibiotics if there is something I can do to stop it from getting there. I don’t want to take medicine unless I have to. Though I thought about Aspirin/Advil for the headache yesterday, as my head really did hurt. No fever, though temperature a little higher than normal. I haven’t been feeling great.
It struck me that I wasn’t taking the time to care for myself. I was on autopilot — again. I was doing what I usually/always do. And yes, while a lot of it is helpful, it wasn’t enough and/or what I needed right now. My body was calling out “help me!” — and I wasn’t totally listening.
Why wasn’t I listening? I’ve been down this road enough to know that taking a few minutes now may feel like a lot and an imposition, until I do it and see how much better I feel and that it’s not actually so bad and all that — I have to get myself over the hump. It’s getting over the hump that is hard.
Man, it’s the hump with food too. Food is another distraction/number/buffer.
Food can numb me out, help me gird my loins/buck up/saddle up to keep going — and yet I’m missing some of my functionality when I eat. Yes, it takes the edge off, but it also makes me a little less effective. There is something in the pain (and yet it isn’t always so much pain as maybe the unknown or something else I don’t have a word for — something I shrink from and fear, and yet don’t even know what I’m fearing). There is a sharpness that cuts through the shit — if I can use the sharpness as the tool it’s meant to be.
The tool of the pain — sharpness. It cuts through bullshit. It lays wide open that which needs to be seen, looked at, considered, felt, healed, whatever-ed. Pain shows us what we’ve been hiding from. It shows the way, or at least hints at it.
There is beauty in pain (or whatever the intensity that is there is). Great beauty. And yet how often does it go missed? Because I’m/we’re afraid?
And yet — getting over the hump usually isn’t that hard. Most of the time, it requires me/asks me to sit (or stand or just be with) and feel uncomfortable for a while — and not push the feeling away. To allow it in. To soak me, penetrate me, saturate me. And then somehow it’ll change. Dissolve, dissipate, morph, something. And suddenly I’ll notice it doesn’t feel as hard anymore. It doesn’t feel as painful, as intense to bear.
I might feel a — the — longing that shows up. And I’m not always sure what the longing is for. But I can feel it. And I’ve felt it for years.
It pulls, it calls, it whispers, tugs, beckons, blows on the wind. It waits patiently, ever tugging at my hair strands. It says “Listen, hear, feel. You know what you want. What is it?”
And I don’t know. Or maybe I do?
Listening to the pull, allowing it in, sitting with it, being with it, allowing it. Being fully me — in it. And letting that all be okay. Letting me be okay. Letting those around me be okay. Letting it all be okay. Because, maybe, it’s all okay.
Do I know? Do I? What do I know?
I love hearing the birds sing and my children say “Mom”. I love the hugs and soft cheeks against mine. I love seeing them again in the morning, happy to see me, especially if the previous night ended in tears about picking things up and/or getting ready for bed. Or a tired mommy just wanting some peace and quiet and snapping — and then later feeling bad for losing it. When their eyes sparkle as they say “Hi Mom” — it makes my day.
I love the simplicity of the morning, doing yoga, meditation, stretching, writing, and making a smoothie. I love being here to get my kids off to school. I love choosing how I get to spend my time. And I see now that I always had the choice, even when I didn’t think I had the choice.
I’m glad to be able to see that I can make it through uncomfortable moments — I will not die. Not that I want to invite them in (asking pain in is probably masochistic). However, when the times do come and that’s what I’ve got, I am getting better at allowing them, being with them, feeling them, seeing if I can learn anything. And seeing that there always is something there.
Things do work out for the benefit of all — truly. It may not always seem that way on the surface, and yet I do see we manifest our existence — what we ask for we are getting — the lessons, feelings, whatnot. And then we can choose if it’s the feeling we want or not. We can always choose. FREAKING ALWAYS.
I read somewhere that we might not always like the choices we have in front of us (at least in the moment) — yet it doesn’t mean we don’t have choices.
Back to being sick — I see that I haven’t been present to really taking care of myself. This is another hump area. I haven’t wanted to take care of myself. Whether it was previously my mom’s suggestion of trying the neti-pot or icing an injury or doing some stretches — I’d rebel. And really, part of it was not (wanting?) to fully be with myself. I have no idea why. And maybe I do. I didn’t know how to be with myself — really at all. It was like I was floating through this life in this body I didn’t identify with yet used as a tool. I just was floating, not feeling, not connecting. And so I stopped taking care of myself and/or didn’t learn how. And now I’m learning. And after neti-potting and doing the other stuff this morning I knew would help? I am feeling better.