I’ve recently taken up cycling. I try to go at least one day on the weekend and listen to music or podcasts while I cycle through the bushlands, wetlands and carparklands of the surrounding suburbs.
I’ve been a bit down lately. Actually, that’s a huge understatement. A team of professionals, a suite of medications, a range of coping strategies (some more maladaptive than others), hospital stays of varying durations, a horde of loving friends and family, and I’m barely keeping my head above water.
Everyone keeps banging on about how well I’m doing and that I should give myself some credit for what I am achieving.
My inner-self cries “what achievements?” Since when did getting someone else to do school drop off, staying in bed all day then heating up a freezer dinner become an achievement?
I know we have times in our lives when we need the help of others – new baby, bereavement, serious illness and the like – but seriously, I’ve barely cooked a meal in two years. What happened to the person who used to just get stuff done?
I have such a low capacity now, and no resilience. Last Wednesday I presented at the national conference for my profession. Last Thursday I was taken by ambulance to psychiatric emergency because I got a bit stressed in a meeting.
Today I dropped off a fortnight’s worth of laundry to a friend who begged me to let her do it. I don’t even have the energy to politely refuse when people offer anymore. I’m so dismayed with my own inability to complete tasks that I gratefully piled her up with overflowing baskets.
Back to this afternoon’s bike ride. I gave up early. I’d been for a big ride yesterday, the wind was against me and I didn’t have any oomph. I tried to be gentle with myself and concluded that a short ride was better than no ride, and headed for home do something nice before it was time to pick up the kids.