Fat, Sick and In My Happy Place

I didn’t take the time to decompress the way I needed to so that I could fully embrace being here.

Y’all, my weight gain has hit a level that I finally had to notice. And I’m still congested and occasionally coughing. But I’m in the desert, the sky is clear, the temps are cool and warm and the air is wonderfully dry. Plus every color makes me happy. There is some good energy here. And I’m not sure I’m open to it yet.

I ran around like a mad woman yesterday to get a project proposal delivered on time, then had lunch and a walk with David before I hit the airport. I didn’t take the time to decompress the way I needed to so that I could fully embrace being here. The negative stayed with me, the stress and the being sick with whatever the hell I have and the realization that I couldn’t avoid anymore, that I am feeling pretty fat.

It would be easier to enjoy rockin’ my body if I had the clothes for my larger size, but I am pushing the limits of what I own and this is not a time I want to shop for more. And it just doesn’t feel good. Not much feels good at the moment.

Ashley wrote a post-vacay post via Pressing reset (or maybe just pause) that covered it.

I didn’t take the time to get ready to vacay, so I’m spending the first part of it recognizing that and deciding what to do about it. Yes, let it go and all that, right? I have PTSD, so the fact that I am even able to think through and acknowledge all of this (I did run away, but still have to work today so am sitting in my friend’s office working away before we head out on a hike) while I still have obligations and responsibilities to fulfill.

So here’s to taking a day to figure it out, reset, reframe, clear my desk and be ready to rest tonight and enjoy the hell outta tomorrow…while seeing if I can’t maybe also enjoy the hell outta today.

A Day of Rest

Anxiety pushes me to keep moving, keep going, do, do more and do more than that.

Yesterday I carried a baby around, played with small children while their parents ate lunch (we ran like airplanes and made a “campfire” with acorns, leaves and sticks), worked quietly and watched my football team lose in the last minute after dominating the first half. No exercise, no letting the Fitbit dictate my day, no feeling bad about finishing off a pint of Ben & Jerry’s, no staying up late “just because”. After a week of massive steps forward in my recovery, dreaming every night with dreams that are resolving things in my brain, putting dozens of miles in, hitting a big deadline and enjoying the heck outta some bagels and coffee, I rested. It felt so good.

Anxiety pushes me to keep moving, keep going, do, do more and do more than that. Resting, quiet, stillness have been my enemy. I haven’t quite gotten to taking a day off or going on vacation, but I have finally established a bit of a weekly schedule, set some boundaries for myself and gotten some sleep. This is the acknowledgement of that, that for an entire week I put effort and attention toward taking care of myself,¬†even when I was busy, stressed, anxious and multitasking.

PTSD is a weird beast. It’s taken a long time to beat it back, but this was the first week that there wasn’t a glimmer of light, there was a beam of it. I’m basking in it!