Seed, Feed ‘n’ Weed: using stress to strengthen my spirit

In May, stress was winning I came close to giving up. Instead, I hit pause, and tried something new. And it worked.

My Keep It Super Simple plan evolved on the spot. Starting May 28, I pledged to complete a 30-day experiment on incorporating tiny actions and lifestyle changes that over time would help my body heal physically and rebuild mentally from years of accumulated stress. I was sliding into stage 3 of burnout, just two stages away from complete physical and mental meltdown. Would a few little things like an extra glass of water or listing a favourite song be able to counteract the toll a life of many drains and few recharges could take on body, mind, and spirit?

(If you aren’t familiar with my 30-day plan, my previous blog posts will fill you in. If you have been following my plan and progress, thank you! Your support has been a welcome addition to my process.)

Seeing as my challenge ended more than two weeks ago, with nary a peep on my blog about the results, it would appear as if this process didn’t work for me at all. I’m still not blogging regularly. I haven’t finished my book. I haven’t lost several inches or a dozen pounds from my well-padded frame. I can’t walk 10k, let alone run it. One by one, the list grows of the things in my life that have not improved or changed.

But you know what? KISS did work for me. The fact that I am still here, out of bed and unmedicated, is the most obvious proof. The fact that the list of negatives now wash through and away rather than stagnating and drowning me is Exhibit 2. The extra water, vitamins, exercise and rest certainly gave my body some things it desperately needed. The real power, however, comes from the mindfulness – the realization in the throes of panic or the grip of restlessness that I can do something to help myself, not only for the moment but for the long term. I had to face the fact that not only was I not getting as much fresh air or down time as I should have been, but that I was reacting to everything out of fear. I was afraid to be good to myself lest that made me selfish or unfeeling toward others. I was afraid to speak lest I be challenged for my opinions and choices, which could well be wrong. I was afraid to see myself as a person with the privilege of a brain and talent and spirit lest I be held accountable for the responsibility of sharing those gifts with the world. As a result, I was forcing myself to stay awake beyond sleepiness, ignoring my thirst, and allowing self-doubt to erase every bit of joy from any decision I made or action I took.

To be clear, I am still afraid. I still slip back into the habits that leave me drained and exhausted. But now, I have a means to bounce back. KISS is no longer an experiment or a 30-days-and-you’re-done treatment, it is a part of my life. It is a work in progress, as am I.

Now, as a sidebar, I have never been much of a gardener. I have killed everything listed as hardy, low-maintenance, and trouble-free. Even dandelions have died in my presence. However, I  secretly admired those lucky folks who could blend home and horticulture. A tiny kitchen garden, window boxes, beds of perennials lining a walkway – all look so inviting and calming. So during the past few years, I have been trying to inject some green into my black thumb and slowly, there have been results. I do have a substantial perennial collection now, lining my walkway and foundation, every plant a testament to survival of the fittest. I also have container gardens on my front and back decks. Now, whether it is our hot sunny summer so far, or the fact that I have been watering them faithfully twice a day since I planted them, my containers have flourished beyond imagination. Giant cucumber vines, abundant tomato blossoms, blooming flowers, thriving garden greens … all of them are spilling out of containers and delighting the senses. And I did that. I planted the seeds, covered them in soil, watered them, watched over them, plucked any errant growth that could overtake them, and letthem do their thing. They are yielding an eclectic path of beauty.

I am doing the same now with my feelings. I feel the stab of a seed in my gut – fear, panic, self-doubt, excitement, pride, anger, whatever it is. I hold it close, cover it with my presence, nurture it with my energy. Over time, I have an insight, or a renewed interest, or a desire to do something, or the innate knowledge to choose where I need to be and what I need to do. I take a breath, drink some water, pluck the distractions and negative thoughts, and get it done. Repeat as needed.

I love my garden, and it is what it is. My radishes will never be strawberries. My geraniums will never be roses. In the same way, I will never be one to adhere to a strict schedule. I cannot blog daily. I cannot do things by rote. I can, however, find a balance between conformity and chaos. I can connect the outcomes I seek with the discipline needed to attain them.

So maybe, just maybe, I can do this writing thing after all.

Thanks for your patience, and for listening.

We’ll talk again soon.

Lessons from a clothesline

My basement clothesline now sags with dripping wet clothes. The forecast said thunder showers; I was swayed by the brilliant blue sky. So who do I blame: nature, myself, or this bloody Nova Scotia weather that changes literally in the blink of an eye?

The answer depends on where you are in your healing process. A year ago, I would have blamed the weather, railed at my ancestors who chose this forsaken ocean frontier over the Caribbean, fumed at the forecaster who was for once completely accurate and thus throwing off my plan, global warming, the sale of Star Wars to Disney, anything that provided a villain for my loss of productivity. A month ago, I would have blamed myself for being so stupid and naive. I’ve lived in Nova Scoria all my life, I should know that blue sky could mean rain, snow, hail or a windstorm in five minutes’ time. I should have listened to the radio. I should have been writing/exercising/sorting receipts/saving the whales instead of doing laundry during prime working hours.

Today, 26 days into my 30-day exploration, I watched the rain fall from a clear blue sky and said: oh, well, at least I tried. Clothes can only get so wet. There was nothing I needed to wear tonight. Good on the forecaster for finally getting something right. I thought not about the soaking mass of laundry that had to be hauled downstairs and hung. I thought about the warm sunshine on my deck as I hung them on the line, and the conversation I had with a young friend while doing it. I took a chance and hoped by nightfall I would have two loads of dry, folded fresh-smelling clothes. Instead, I have limp laundry draped and dripping over every surface imaginable in my laundry room. Oh, well, at least I tried.

Thanks for reading. See you soon.

The Dark Side of the creative process

My lesson yesterday? The things that anger, frighten and frustrate are not minefields but diamond mines full of unruly bits that can be polished into a gem of a story.

I left Monday for an overnighter in the city, a work trip, wondering in part if I was well enough to take on the additional responsibility. I didn’t sleep Monday night, unless a few catnaps adding to a grand total of 1.5 hours counts, so I wasn’t off to a good start. However, the hotel was lovely. the pool even lovelier and after a soothing early morning swim and a picnic breakfast, I was good to go. Halfway through the meeting, however, the gnawing in my stomach gained fire. Clearly I was not healed, in fact, I seemed to be regressing, tuning out and fuming when I should be open and engaging. It was a gorgeous day outside and I was stuck inside listening to facts that I already knew from folks who were not on the same page I or the organizers were on. That’s a boardroom standard, is it not? By the break, I was ready to ditch. Instead, I breathed, pulled out my iPad and began working on a related project. that move diverted my frustration into accomplishment and gave me space to calm down. With the fire cooled, I could understand why I was so frustrated.

The volume of speakers, limited time and lack of rules of order meant that me and others like me had no opportunity to share their opinions. I could not speak my authentic voice. This realization helped melt the frustration, and showed that instead of regressing I have moved forward. I have found my voice, or I wouldn’t have been upset at not sharing it.

I looked up and saw the guest speaker standing alone, unusual because at the start of the break he had been surrounded, and for good reason. He was an excellent communicator – enthusiastic, knowledgeable, and efficient in connecting his world with others. I asked him a question I had wanted to discuss before the break. We had an enlightening conversation, at least for me. The break ended. I soldiered on. By the end of the day I was exhausted and still unsure whether the event was productive at all. This morning, however, after a night of actually sleeping and some processing, several good things came from my initial frustration. I looked at the day as a sign my organization could do more to promote its worth, and we are taking steps to do that. I am inspired now to refresh the promo materials and work plan.

The exhaustion is a sign I still have to be very careful and in fact, tonight, I will be enjoying an early supper and movie with my family, so we can all get a good night’s sleep. The frustration I felt, though, is gone after a day, when before it might have clung and simmered for weeks or months. That is a step forward. Bring on the water and carrots.

Thanks for listening. See you tomorrow.

Lessons from The Enterprise: Day 21

I always believed life’s best lessons could be found in Star Trek and this weekend, it was proven to me. Sweet. But there was something even sweeter.

I got to share it.

In the original series episode The Enemy Within,  Captain Kirk emerges from a transporter malfunction as twins – one violent and cruel, the other indecisive and timid. As separate beings, the violent twin destroys, attacks and defiles while the other cowers, shivers and hides. Over time, both end up with the same fate: dying. As separate beings, they could neither function nor survive. Only with both the violent and the gentle balancing and energizing the other could the captain live, as well as be a successful leader and compassionate human being.

At a gathering this weekend of women who met to Rise Up! Through yoga and conversation, we discussed Yin and Yang: the need for masculine qualities including aggression, concrete thinking and analysis in harmony with feminine qualities such creativity, instinct and nurturing. I mentioned Star Trek. No one was a fan. I described the episode. Someone had seen it. Another had heard of Captain Kirk. Everyone, however, found a connection between the episode and our discussion. The facilitator said she would use it in future discussions.

It felt good to add to the conversation. But what felt fantastic? Sharing something important to me. I’ve been a Trekker since I was a kid, but in my tiny rural school no one else watched the reruns or cared to hear about them, so I learned to keep my fandom to myself. Now, more than 30 years later, I found the confidence to share and made an important connection for myself and our group.

My 30 days of exploration have been to heal body and spirit from the ravages of stress. Part of that healing, I now realize, involves finding my voice, and finding the courage to use it.  Hiding or neglecting our passions denies us a source of energy. Holding back our voices causes our messages to grind within, unleashing the cycle of stress and the damage that goes with it.

This weekend’s gathering was a small step but a shining example of how each of us within our passions have important messages only we can share.

Bring on Week 4!

Thanks for reading. See you tomorrow.

Turn the knob, don’t pull the plug

I’m really dating myself here, referring to dials rather than touch screens, but that’s part of who I am, old. I also feel like a radio these days, needing to tune out but not wanting to lose the signals that enrich my life. It’s like when the country hour comes on our local station. I can handle a few of these artists, actually enjoy the occasional tune here. If I turned the whole thing off, I’d miss the good songs. Or, if the tuning is nudged off-station, I don’t pull the plug, I fine-tune the setting. On days when I need silence, I don’t take a hammer to the radio, I turn it off, and save the rail for a day when the music is welcomed.

I just wish controlling the signals from life were as easy.

When exhausted and overwhelmed, I have no energy for separating and sorting. Every emotion, request, appointment, deadline, and thought swirls together until a huge knotted clump of confused, angry half-deeds knocks about my frazzled brain until I am paralyzed by anxiety and frustration. In desperate need of relief, I think about quitting my work, my writing, my career, and in my darkest hours, life itself, anything to make the noise and feelings stop. what I need to do, though, is not pull the plug but tweak the tuning. I may need to focus on one task for awhile rather than split my energy between two or three. I may need a station playing different music; a change, after all, is as good as a rest. Or, I may just need to turn things off for awhile. Take a mental health day and sit on the beach, in my room with a candle, or on my deck surrounded by trees. No electronics, no people, just me.

In my 19 days of exploring ways to cool the burnout and Keep It Super Simple, I have learned that never will the world change for me – only I can slow down or declutter my world. Requests will continue to pour in, calendar dates will keep piling up … It is up to me to put them in their place: Accept or Decline, Save or Delete. That way, I can hear the signals I want, even when the batteries are low. Be selective now, to avoid total meltdown in the future.

Thanks for listening. See you tomorrow.

A stiff breeze makes us stronger

Did you know tomato plants grow better in the wind? Me neither, but my son’s high school science project gave undeniable proof. Then I got to thinking: is the same true for authors?

First, the tomatoes. Phase one of his experiment proved that tomato seeds germinated faster when fed green tea rather than just water, which was the first clue that maybe these fruits with the veggie reputation are pretty smart. Then today, after three months of careful lab work, my young scientist presented me with two clear cups, the kind that in the goold ole days would have been filled with beer at a Rawlins Cross concert … but I digress. In one cup were two scraggly little sprouts, the sort of thing I’m famous for nurturing straight to the compost. In the other, though, were a half dozen sturdy green seedlings staking their claims and reaching for the sun. The difference? The sturdy guys were given an hour a day in front of a low-speed fan. It seems the breeze encourages the stalks to grow stronger, which leads to healthier, faster-growing plants.

Huh. Who knew.

“Well, you might have, if any of your plants ever lived long enough,” my darling boy suggested as he kissed his plants goodbye and donated them to my kitchen garden … or what I hope will be a kitchen garden, if not everything decomposes by July. Sweet child. Long on honesty, short on tact and the awareness that one should never disrespect the hand that does their laundry. I could have pointed out that he is growing just fine, thank you very much, and might grow better if he did his own laundry but again, I digress.

Now, for these tomato plants to stay healthy, the breeze needs to be moderate to light, not steady or hurricane-force. There also needs to be stability in other conditions – water but not too much, sunlight but not too warm, all the usual things. But to see the two cups side by side is fascinating; a force no one could see and can only partially control rendered one group weak and caused the other to thrive. Could we, by any chance,  be like tomato plants? We instinctively seek shelter for ourselves and those we love, discourage entry into the hint of a storm, but does that keep us safe or weaken our spirit? When we survive a challenge, meet a goal, win a competition, or navigate an obstacle, we feel a sense of accomplishment, pride, energy. Placed in a stiff breeze on a regular basis would we not grow stronger as well? Resistance in the gym builds muscle; resistance in life ‘builds character’, our grandfathers would grumble. Perhaps they were on to something, and not just trying to get their kids doing the grownup work for them.

When I began this exploration 17 days ago, I felt like I was in the throes of a hurricane. Set something down, it goes spinning out of reach. Try to focus on one thing, six others become lost. The despair, the sensation of being pushed off course, the air being sucked from my lungs, even the roaring in my ears all mirrored the feeling of being caught in a windstorm. That strength of breeze doesn’t grow things, it destroys them. My decision to let go of my book for now, turn attention inward, and take baby steps back toward my path gave shelter from the storm. With every choice I make and every promise I keep to myself, the window is widened and the breeze grows stronger. Will I grow stronger, too? We’ll see. In the meantime, I may have the best kitchen garden ever, with tomatoes that actually live to bear fruit.

Thanks for listening! See you tomorrow.

Life experiences and a space to sort them in

Storage of our stuff is a multi-billion dollar industry in North America. How much do we invest in our head space? We pay hundreds for the perfect shelving unit to hold books (proper thing, of course!), ornaments and electronics. What about all those experiences housed in our body and mind: how much do we invest in processing, sorting and storing those?

Now at Day 17 of my 30-day exploration, I have learned that Week 1 was on fuelling the body (water, food, relaxation, sleep) and Week 2 was on feeding the senses (favourite things and songs, friends, scents, the natural world). In Week 3, I am feelng the need for not just time to process the inputs, but conducive spaces as well. I am drawn to rooms with sunlight, need to open windows for breeze and scents, and have been outdoors as much as I’m able. But I’m also being creative with how I interact with my indoor and outdoor spaces as well.

One creation: my tuffet. Yep, just like the girl and the spider. Two years ago, a storm blew down an tree in the midst of my lilacs, leaving a gap that begged for a seat. This past weekend, my family and I created one, out of a repurposed front-load washer tub, old truck tire, hardwood seat from an old kitchen chair and a vinyl tablecloth left behind in our cottage. My children christened it The Tuffet. Picture a mushroom with a metal base, giving a seat surrounded by lush leaves and topped at the moment by lilac blooms. Cost? A bit of imagination and effort to assemble. Payback? Even thinking about it makes me happy. Five minutes on my tuffet and I have been transported to a different world and back. Surrounded by soft scents and cooling breeze, my mind is clearer, breathing is calmer. The solution was there all the time. I didn’t need money or time, just the headspace to pull together a few things and make the priority. Now I have a connection to my yard, my home, and my mind, body and spirit. And, a cool place to hide.

Thanks for reading. See you tomorrow.

Changing the Way I Share

Past the halfway mark, I have learned that recharging one’s body and spirit is possible and quite doable, but there is no drive-thru or microwave version. Homegrown, home cooked, time-honored and daily are the only ingredients that will work. Conditioned now to chafe at a 10-second download, the work this week shifts again from sensory engagement to strength exercises – of both muscles and patience.

Yesterday I worked in the garden and dud my trampoline bounce. I was sore and tired, but calm. Today, I got involved with work and had a school concert to attend – an awesome concert, by the way, with 13 yos playing jazz like they were born 50 years ago. There is a special place in my heart for music teachers, but I digress. I didn’t garden today, and missed my bounce tonight. Now I’m jittery, exhaustedbut not that relaxed, tired feeling after a solid day’s work, more of a it’s-late-so-I-should-get-to-bed-just-because sort of tired. Earlier today I could feel my frustration rise and energy lag. I drank a glass of water. Minutes later the tension lifted.

These little things are working, yay! Yet it seems I am still working against myself. What has grown is my awareness of both the action and the consequence. I am still filling out my playlist and lists of favourite things and smells, still drinking my water and all of those things promised in week one. My gift to self today is to think on how they work, and why I stop. Am I really that busy? Or am I afraid to go the next level?

I’ll figure it out this week. Thanks for being here. See you tomorrow.

Back to work, Ready or Not

Two weeks after hitting pause on my book, I dusted off my publisher hat and got back at it. Was I scared? Eerily so, but I was more afraid of letting that fear control me. As much as I need a break from all things stressful, I need to be clear about the source of that stress. The two weeks away have helped me see, and appreciate, that I do love my work. As I read the manuscript, the nagging doubts melted with the hours. I was lost in the story, clarifying it, fixing it, polishing it. I ended with a list for tomorrow, and left my desk in time to catch some afternoon rays, cook supper, plant more seeds in my container garden, bounce, play some music with my son, and watch a little TV. It was a good day.

But I still have a long way to go. Here is why. My techno- brain – the one looking for grammar, typos, story arc and sentence flow – was purring. A switch to my creative brain, though, brought angst, tension and frustration. Asked to pick an accent colour for our new kitchen island, I blanked. Eyeing the bald patch on our front lawn I suddenly couldn’t decide: garden or reseeding? If garden, put the lilies on the left or the right? I stormed back into the house in tears.

Then I breathed, deeply, 10 times like I promised myself I would. Paint can be painted over. Grass can be dug up. So can lilies if they need to be moved. I know that, but my processing time is still hampered. My brain, body and spirit are still grinding more than they should, resulting in a continued need to heal and recharge.

But the best thing about today? I’m looking forward to getting back at that manuscript tomorrow.

Thanks for being here. See you tomorrow.

14 Days, 3 things I know for sure

It has been two full weeks since I promised myself and all of you a 30-day search for little things to cool the burnout and recharge the joy. Here’s what I’ve learned:

1. My body knows what it’s doing. Listen to it. My outlook has improved these past two weeks but my energy is still fragile. A busy week led to a near-shutdown on Saturday. So, instead of spending the evening serving food at a fundraiser I snuggled at home with my 9yo and watched Frozen. Today, I was still tired but functional. And content.

2. People will help if you drop the perfect act and let them in. I spent last night with my 9yo because my husband stepped up and took my place at the fundraiser. No argument, no pleading, he simply said I should be home resting and he would have a good time helping out. During the past two weeks, I’ve been asked how I’m doing, offered help if I need it, and given an encouraging word or a hug out if the blue. We are all connected by something. Trusting in that connection is incredibly comforting.

3. Little things grow into wonderful things. My children. Three glasses of water a day. 35 minutes a week on a trampoline. I have a long way to go, but the panic is ebbing with each crunch of my carrot, and my optimism inches upward with each note on my playlist. I even planted tomatoes today from seed, and fully expect to savour their sweet fruit at summer’s end. So I may be a bit high on sunscreen and life … But I’ll take that any time over sitting in a chair wishing the world away.

A new week begins tomorrow! See you then.