One of my friends is a chronic worrier, so much so that it has started to have an impact upon what I write and post on the blog. It has not censored me so much as I stop and think about what I’m writing, wondering if my dear friend will pick up upon it and have a poor (worried) reaction. My recent series discussing my struggles to get back on track after the distractions of this month culminated in a text exchange yesterday where she expressed her concern about my recent posts and stated I sounded more unhappy than negative. She misses my happy.
Each of us reads and processes events through the lens of our own experience. But I have mostly been letting it go, working to shrug it off and not let it bother or impact me. Unfortunately it had become a niggling issue for me, and I suggested she cease reading my blog. I seem to be incapable of stating myself clearly enough that people do not get hurt by my words, and therein lies the rub of trying to set boundaries and take care of myself. I had to express how much I dislike the feeling such sentiments of worry over basically a temporary, transitory emotion inspire. If it were something deeper or more significant, I bring it up in more detail in personal conversations, texts, emails. I need to protect this sacred space for me to sort my shit out.
Depression, anxiety are real conditions and probably more common than any of us realize. TM and I had an informal conversation tonight over a cup of a kava-based drink about recent events in my life. I have a good and happy life 99.8% of the time, but sprinkled through the happy-happy-joy-joy are the normal crappy things that happen to everyone. Life’s irritations are small-ball is compared to other people with more shattering issues. Anymore, I try not to compare. Anymore, I try to simply live my life and keep my angsty whining to a bare minimum.
The blog is a safe place for me, the space where I can download the purity of my thoughts and raw emotions, uncensored and unfiltered. Much of the time these are positive, happy, upbeat, but sometimes they are reflective of my doubts, fears, anxieties. I don’t audience blog; I just write it as I think it/feel it/report it. Way too often they are scattered and not linear enough to suit me upon a reread after publishing. But oh well.
I am not much of a worrier. I have emotional reactions, and sometimes those result in really angry outbursts. One of my own was seriously ill with a sudden illness that could have resulted in death; he chose to not tell me about it until after the fact and yes, I was super-sized angry about it. Thing is, I don’t hold grudges. I get over things relatively quickly. He’s still recovering, and while I remain concerned, my energy toward him is better spent writing distracting story-telling emails about the minutia of my days. I don’t want him to die; I would be devastated and inconsolable if that ever happened to anyone I love. But my mind does not obsess about his well being. My mind instead turns to writing amusing notes.
My life is good, my most recent mercurial moodiness (if it can even be characterized that way) will resolve itself.
To that end I am trying some new things. Like a restorative yoga class after a cup of kava with TM. While I did not intend to discuss worry with him when we set up our kava date, it was on my mind and it came up.
TM came as close as he ever does to demanding that I not censor myself on the blog, that I maintain it as a sacred, safe place, even if it meant taking it private and making it for invited readers only. The horrified expression on my face must have spoken volumes, because his Plan B was that I should be honest about what I think, how I feel, set appropriate boundaries with my friend that let both of us be ourselves and good with our overall relationship.
TM has informally pronounced me as still okay, which near as I can tell is shrink-speak for not in need of immediate psychological intervention. Despite my being out of sorts and hair-triggered on the spin cycle right now, it is a temporary situation likely to resolve and right itself in time. He whole heartedly supports my regular exercise routines and sees how these relatively new habits could be disrupted by the upheaval of September’s distractions.
So I have a professional opinion that I’m okay.
Restorative yoga seems to be working pretty well for me. I’m learning to use yoga props, which for an unbendy person like me are a huge boon. We hold the shapes for longer than I’m accustomed to in a more vigorous hot yoga class, and with the props it makes me more successful and able to figure out the breathing and the meditative aspects of the practice. I find myself relaxing and unwinding my zoom-zoom-zoom thoughts set on fast forward. I only wish it was longer than just an hour.
Or maybe it was the kava. Either way, it was a good experience, one I will try to repeat weekly.
Balance is not something I achieve and then kick back, relax, enjoy. Balance is apparently another constant, life-long quest. It just looks and feels a little different, depending on what else is going on in my life. And this week, it’s looks and feels like overcoming irritation and frustration with events mostly beyond my control.
Training Thursday. Things are looking up already.