It's my birthday today. I'm one of those annoying people - who loves their birthday to distraction and thinks it should be a national holiday (or at least a day off) and wants to spend a week on either side being called "the birthday girl" and being made to feel special. Luckily I've always had families that indulge.
But for me, my birthday is also a time for reflection. And as I've reflected on this past year, I'd say it's probably been one of my hardest.
But for me, my birthday is also a time for reflection. And as I've reflected on this past year, I'd say it's probably been one of my hardest.
Many challenging things (each of which might have needed some time to recover from but that all conspired to happen on top of each other in the span of 4-5 months) left me on the wrong side of depleted. To the point of learning the "clinical" definition of burnout and exactly how wrongly most of us throw around "burnout" too casually. Because the real thing is like a wolf to a puppy.
And yet - I think this year I may have grown the most as well.
Even as I write those words I feel incredulous. Because at times last fall, I've felt like a barren wasteland inside. Glassy eyed and empty. Nothing to give. Nothing to grow.
If I thought anxiety was bad, burnout is something not to be fucked with.
Anxiety for me is like Dementors. Burnout is like being trapped in Azkaban.
And yet I have found my way out. Through therapy and meditation and a program called LIT that had me realizing I had been cutting off my power by not listening to my gut and my feelings. My mind was exhausted because I had somehow decided it was the only one to listen to and that I had to do it all myself and all in one way.
And yet - I think this year I may have grown the most as well.
Even as I write those words I feel incredulous. Because at times last fall, I've felt like a barren wasteland inside. Glassy eyed and empty. Nothing to give. Nothing to grow.
If I thought anxiety was bad, burnout is something not to be fucked with.
Anxiety for me is like Dementors. Burnout is like being trapped in Azkaban.
And yet I have found my way out. Through therapy and meditation and a program called LIT that had me realizing I had been cutting off my power by not listening to my gut and my feelings. My mind was exhausted because I had somehow decided it was the only one to listen to and that I had to do it all myself and all in one way.
But here's the thing about hitting your own rock bottom, you have to build yourself back up again. But you can only do it with blocks that are deeply meaningful. Because anything else won't give you the energy you need to get out of bed.
And so I did tiny little things and took little steps.
I met friends. I coached football. I volunteered for costume fittings and book fairs. I got to know my neighbors and I wrote. I woke up every morning at 5:30am and did 20 minutes of yoga, read Mary Oliver and wrote in my journal.
They are not all kind words or words I'll feel comfortable reading later. But they are true words and words I needed to get out of me.
I suppose the gift of "middle age" is that I've started to see how every additional year I get is a gift. Truly. Too many friends have been struck by serious health issues for me to ignore what my body has been trying to tell me.
But before this year, I didn't believe it possible for a person to change on the inside like this.
I've always been an anxious frantic sort of person, since childhood. Wound up so tightly on the "what ifs" and "nexts".
But this year I've seen, if only in glimpses, how iI could actually moved differently in the world - "zen mama" as my kids have started calling it.
I met friends. I coached football. I volunteered for costume fittings and book fairs. I got to know my neighbors and I wrote. I woke up every morning at 5:30am and did 20 minutes of yoga, read Mary Oliver and wrote in my journal.
They are not all kind words or words I'll feel comfortable reading later. But they are true words and words I needed to get out of me.
I suppose the gift of "middle age" is that I've started to see how every additional year I get is a gift. Truly. Too many friends have been struck by serious health issues for me to ignore what my body has been trying to tell me.
But before this year, I didn't believe it possible for a person to change on the inside like this.
I've always been an anxious frantic sort of person, since childhood. Wound up so tightly on the "what ifs" and "nexts".
But this year I've seen, if only in glimpses, how iI could actually moved differently in the world - "zen mama" as my kids have started calling it.
It's a marvel. To know that just because I exist in one way today it doesn't need to be like that always.
And that is the gift I'm taking into this next year. One of knowing that reinvention is always possible and usually it's the smallest changes that get you there. Oh, and to never let that much of myself go again.