I Meant Me, Too

Last night, I decided this blog did not have to go out at six this morning.

I usually finish it the day before and schedule it to post. But after several drafts, I still was not happy with what I had written.

So I went to bed without scheduling it.

Nothing depended on the exact minute. Six o’clock was my routine, an expectation I had set for myself. I could let it be later.

This morning, I could not sleep. I got up and returned to the writing.

It is now after six, and I am still revising.

The deadline has passed. Nothing has happened.

I had given myself permission to let it go. Apparently, part of me needed to see that I could.

Our family has had a difficult month. Over the last few days, I have written about airplanes and fog, earthquakes, and gratitude. There were drafts I could have finished and posted. They did not have to be my best to have something worth saying.

But I kept starting again.

I wanted to share the experience, strength, and hope that have helped me. Yet each draft seemed to reach a conclusion I was still struggling to live.

I can talk about acceptance. I understand that I did not cause someone else’s struggles, cannot control them, and cannot cure them. I know patience means allowing time I would rather hurry through.

Knowing all of that does not stop me from wanting an answer today.

So I went back to my own words.

In an earlier post, I wrote, “You are allowed to hope. You are allowed to grieve. You are allowed to rest.”

I need to hear those words myself.

Rest, especially.

When I sit down and try to rest, my mind wanders back to the things I cannot control. I worry. I know the worry is not helping anyone. Eventually, I get up and return to something that needs doing.

Doing something productive gives my attention somewhere to go. I care about my work. But finishing a task does not necessarily make me more comfortable being still.

There is always another task available.

This week, there has been another draft.

I would never tell a parent going through a difficult month that she should keep up with everything exactly as before. If she told me she was tired, I would believe her. I would not need her to prove that she had done enough to deserve a break.

Somehow, when I am the one struggling, I keep every expectation and add “be kinder to yourself” to the list.

Then I get frustrated that I am not doing that well either.

I acknowledge the circumstances and keep the standards.

Still, some things are helping.

When worry has taken most of my attention, I ask what else happened that day. Someone was kind. Something made me laugh. Giving those moments a little attention changes how I remember the day.

A few minutes of meditation can ease some of the tension in my body. I do not always need a quiet room or a long stretch of time. I need reminders that I can pause before everything is finished.

And this time, a few close people know more of what I am feeling.

Years ago, shame and guilt kept me much quieter. Now I am letting people closer before I have figured out what to say. I can tell them I am frightened without following it with reassurance. I can admit I am struggling without having a plan ready.

They do not ask me to turn it into something useful.

I have been asking that of myself here.

I wanted to finish this week’s writing with something I had worked through. What I have is something I am working on.

This blog is arriving later, and it is still worth sharing.

In an earlier post, I wrote, “But most importantly, give yourself grace.”

When I wrote those words, I was thinking of the person reading them.

I meant me, too.