A cold I couldn't shake.
A toothache that won't abate.
And I'm a poet and my feet sure show it... they're Longfellows! :)
haha -- isn't it nice to know my sense of the 'funny' hasn't vanished with my foggy thinking.
But seriously, I don't like feeling rundown, or out of sorts. Yet, sometimes, it's the only way my body knows to get my attention. To run me down.
Going full tilt, not taking care of 'me', not paying attention to the details of my life is always a sure sign I'm off-balance. And sometimes, the only way to get back into balance is to stop, assess, regroup and recalibrate.
In The Power of Story, Jim Loehr writes,
"Story is everywhere. Your body tells a story. The smile or frown on your face,Loehr goes on to invite readers to investigate their story and ask whether or not you're willing to die with 'this story' because, as Loehr writes, "like it or not, there will be a story around your death. What will it be?"
your shoulders thrust back in confidence or slumped roundly in despair, the
liveliness or fatigue in your gait, the sparkle of hope and joy in your eyes or
the blank stare, your fitness, the size of your gut, the tone and strength of
your physical being, your overall presentation--those are all part of your
story, one that's especially apparent to everyone else... What's your story
about your physical self? does it truly work for you? Can it take you where you
want to go in the short term? How about ten years from now? What about thirty?"
An exercise I did long ago as part of a writer's workshop was to write my epitaph. Not an easy task. To write as if someone I love is speaking of me at my funeral. What will they say? How will I be remembered?
In this place of low energy, it is daunting to think what people will say if 'this' were my story.
In reality, 'this', this moment right now, is not 'my story'. It's part of my story. Part of this journey, but it's not the whole trip.
Just like being in an abusive relationship was not my 'whole story'. It is was five year segment of a rich and vibrant life, a moment in time. Not the whole story.
Yet still, I grate against this place where I feel low. I struggle to just take time for me. To take care of me. I struggle against this niggling doubt that I'm not just faking it. Or that, this will be me for time to come.
I'm not blue. I'm just low -- and maybe the big struggle for me is to acknowledge I'm tired, not blue and need to take care of me if I am to take care of others.
Perhaps it's that I work in a place where getting sick is not acceptable, I struggle to give into the feeling low and drag myself around at half energy, doing nothing well and everything else but taking care of me. I asked C.C. last night if I was 'less than' because I felt so crummy in an undefined way and wanted to stay in bed for a day. His reply was reassuring. No. It's just your conscience talking back, he said.
So, I'm giving my conscience a break and giving myself a much needed rest. It's back to bed. I've a dentist appointment to take care of my tooth and a commitment to take care of me. What more do I need!