Blog Posts

Sometimes I want to take my ball and go home.

Sometimes I want to take my ball and go home. The bullies aren’t usually that big. Today it was a sleepless night, some tension knots in my ass, the discomfort of expansion, a rejection, and three days of rain.

I’m usually a s-hero when the exhaustion first kicks in. I go to war with my problems, swinging my breasts like large battle axes, ranting at the enemies. That lasts until about 4pm. Around then I realize it would be healthier to watch some Netflix, talk with friends, go for a walk, or have a glass of wine. This is the peace I’ve bought with 25 years of doing every therapy imaginable.

Around 7pm, I realize that I should probably post something on FB so people know I’m doing some amazing shit. And I grapple for ten minutes with the paradox of what it means to authentically show up as well as actually be visible. For example, do I post the picture of me looking fabulous and embodied? Or do I post a real time picture with my red wine teeth in bad lighting, being embodied? What would be more liberating for me and the folks I’ve come to love, albeit at a distance?

98% of the time I opt for the better shinier photo, knowing people will be more likely to read what I write. And I feel irritated.

But I’m from Jersey. I’m a realist.

Somewhere between 7pm and 2am, I’m on fire. (At least this week.) I do sessions. I take sales calls. I field my own fears and processes. And then around 2:15am, often there it is.

The trigger message.

In all fairness, it’s probably from a different country where it’s a reasonable time to attack, defend, or barf. And this, my friends, is the gauntlet moment. The real test of how much sanity I have actually accrued. To my credit, I am usually a champion, who packs herself into her pajamas, makes a hot water bottle, scoops up the cat, and sleeps to her light snoring. Then there are the other days.

Those are the days I get to be extra human. I get to congratulate myself for being a grumpy sad 5 year old, who stills shares her toys. And I remind myself that on the playground of life, sometimes we accidentally ingest a little sand.

 

Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published.