I'm posting this on Friday. Not Thursday. How dare I? After all, Thursday is new blog day. That's my job. Well, I wasn't in the mood. I know that sounds stupid, but I just didn't feel up to it. There have been a great number of items in my life that have caused a little bit of tension, anxiety, frustration, and more. My response to it can make or break me.
Today's post is the same post I was writing throughout the week. It didn't change topics since last Saturday. So why didn't I just type it up and post it yesterday? Simple. I. Did. Not. Want. To. Yesterday, I gave myself permission to postpone my blog. Story time! This past Saturday, my parents came over unannounced. (It happens.) My dad was working in the garage adding more storage space to the attic area. My mother decided to tag along as she often does. I had decided to wait until 9 to go for a run so that it would be a little warmer, but also because my allergies were destroying my head. I was miserable, and still am a bit. My parents arrived about 8:40. For a long time, this would have bugged me- not because they just showed up, but because I was planning on doing something else. At 9:00 I left for my run. I grabbed my stuff, threw on my shoes, and took off. I wasn't trying to be rude. I even informed my mother that I was planning on running at nine. I gave myself permission to leave. I gave myself permission to not have to entertain my parents. And if they wanted me to hang with them, they could have asked. Instead, as my mother was hanging around the house, I decided that she could help us rearrange my daughter's bedroom since we needed to take apart a bed and move furniture around. This is her wheel-house anyway. Thankfully, she was happy to oblige. At nine o'clock Saturday morning, my father was in the garage installing plywood, my mother was helping my husband and daughter with the bedroom, and I was out for a run. This is huge for me. As I ran, I realized that the guilt that used to hold me in that house until they left was gone. Four years ago, I would have waited for them to leave, helping with each thing as I could. Then, far later in the day, I would have dragged my butt out for my run. I would be frustrated for the interruption. I would be agitated that my schedule was changed. I would be mad. Which is really hard and conflicting when you're mad at the people that came over to help. I returned home, showered, and continued with my day. I helped with the bedroom a bit. I spoke with my dad. But for the most part, I carried on with my day. Why? Because I have learned that I can. While I was running, my breathing was more labored than it should have been. I had run extra on Friday, which I don't normally do. And as I mention, my allergies were blazing! So do you know what I did? I gave myself permission to stop early. I read an article recently that women of my generation often feel a burden of guilt. They are forced to be all things to all people at all times. I think it's because we grew up with mothers that were debating between workforce and staying home and neither answer was considered acceptable depending on who you spoke to. So we try to do both. We work. We play house. We take our kids out to have fun, then we lose sleep to make sure we have all of our work done each and every day. Then at the end of the day, when we haven't done something, or didn't make things perfectly, we feel an anxiety of failure. When I read the article, I couldn't have agreed more. In this time of being home, I typically have enough time to get everything done that I have on my list fairly early. Yay. But there are days that I don't. Some days, I haven't slept well so I am in slow motion. Other days, the kids need more attention and I simply have to put my work down. But I've also noticed that I am beginning to just "be over" it all. I'm over doing the same thing every day, every week. Perhaps it's because I don't leave my house anymore. I don't know. But I lose motivation. Recently, I have been giving myself permission. I gave myself permission to not post this blog yesterday because I can. If I had a boss that paid me to make sure this was written and posted by x time on y day, fine. But I don't. I can chill out. When I don't write the designated amount of pages in a day, I allow myself to make it up later on in the weekend. And sometimes, that doesn't happen either. At the end of the day, I'm learning to say, "That's okay." Let's face it. I'm tired of feeling like a failure for not churning out seven pages a day while working as a personal trainer, homeschooling my kids, taking care of the house, and everything else that goes on in my day. I give myself permission to not be perfect. I hope you will to.
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AuthorI have a lot to say about a lot of things. Archives
May 2023
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