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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.

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My Favourite Things, almost forgotten …

My daughter looked at me with a sadness and fear I’ve seen too many times in the mirror. She had to speak in front of the class. What if she couldn’t remember a word, or say it properly? What if, what if … I asked her to pick a lucky charm to take with her, and the what ifs stopped. She searched. She brightened. A tiny porcelain sheep became Lucky Lamb, or LL cool lamb, a rapper who would be at her desk cheering her on. That is why our world is given children, to sustain the human race in part by reminding us adults of connections between our power within and the objects around us.

Day Eight of my Keep It Super Simple quest for a cool to the burnout: find a favourite thing.

For the past seven days i have added to my daily routine four extra glasses of water, an extra serving of veggies, five minutes of exercise, 15 minutes of quiet time, 10 deep mindful breaths, a half-hour of sleep, and a weekly reflection. Today I add finding a favourite thing, holding it if possible or otherwise spending a bit of time with it. My first object? LL cool lamb, who just a few months ago was languishing in a dusty basket on an even dustier shelf in my office. I cleaned house and gave it to my nine year old, who promptly gave him a home on her bedside table. Today, he is in her backpack guiding her through a class presentation. How can I not love him?

We surround ourselves with things, seek storage solutions with the hunger of knights pursuing the Holy Grail only to lose sight, literally and figuratively, of these things we claim to love. Why is that teacup and saucer so carefully stored on your shelf? What is the deal with that ratty old bear? These objects have stories, and are part of your story. LL cool lamb has become part of mine, how an object I had was able to ease the angst of my child, channelling a courage she didn’t know she had. And sharing a power I didn’t know I had.

Thanks for reading. See you tomorrow.

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Time to bounce: KISS Day Three

We have drink. We have food. Time to add a little motion. Sitting is an occupational hazard for writers. Some authors have, and do, write standing up or lying down but call me old-fashioned, I need to be seated to do what I do. Granted, I do it atop a yoga ball. I gave up my desk chair more than two years ago thinking the ball seat would strengthen my core and whip those flabby abs into shape. It didn’t. Seems nothing can take the place of actually moving one’s muscles to tone and sculpt. The irony of exercise, though, is that it can be as unhealthy as healthy, depending on your body type, health conditions, and preferred method of movement. Some bodies, especially those in the throes of burnout, can actually become more stressed with exercise, resulting in greater fatigue, achiness, and stubborn weight retention. However, as my body is pretty much at rest all the time, a little motion needs to be incorporated. My solution? A wee indoor trampoline. My naturopathic doctor suggested it months ago as a possible remedy for the fluid buildup in my legs. Another admission – I have the legs of a 500-pound 90 year old. At certain times of the month my lower legs swell to nearly the size of my thighs, my ankles disappear, and I can forget wearing any footwear that doesn’t have velcro. My ND suggested five minutes a day on the trampoline.I tried it. I liked it. My legs felt less tight. Then, as with all my health improvement plans to date, I stopped. Got busy, was away, etc etc etc. No thought that I could have run on the spot, danced, did jumping jacks instead.

So today, no more excuses. I will trampoline for five minutes a day. Every day. Plus drink my extra glass of water at every meal and eat an extra serving of veggies. So far, nothing has taken extra time or effort. Five minutes a day is a song and a half on my iPod.  Ready, set, bounce.

Thanks for being here. See you tomorrow.

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No time to talk, my brain is getting a massage

That is what I told myself the other day when a crowbar couldn’t wedge another event into my calendar. Massage was the most soothing word I could think of to keep my brain from dissolving into quivering globs of gelatin.

The rush began before sunrise, when my children descended from their cocoons sleepy, hungry, and demanding. I have no clean gym pants. Sign this permission form. Where is my clarinet?  By the time the yellow bus appeared I was ready for wine but the teenager needed a drive to school, across town and through road construction that has been half-done for six dog years and costs an extra half-tank of gas, each way, before heading into a publisher meeting where over liquid breakfast (tepid coffee) we generated a to-do list for me that outnumbered his list four-to-one, including item 5. Write next book. Then, it was off to a job that actually pays money, where I spent two hours listening to a new government program that could do great things if – yep – I started another to-do list. Lunch was at the junior high as an in-school mentor to two eighth-graders.   Still swallowing my sandwich, I dashed to afternoon crafts with a lovely group of ladies set to sip tea and stitch holiday pillowcases, until I had to leave mid-stitch to meet the yellow bus and refuel the youngest for dance.  Then pickups, supper, dishes, laundry, baths and an hour of TV before the house was finally quiet and I collapsed into bed.

As much as I yearned for sleep, my creativity flowed like sap from a maple tree. I longed to write. Why?

The day replayed again, except this time instead of a horror movie I saw a documentary and before I knew it, I learned something.

The time lost sitting in road construction was gained in conversation with my teenaged son, who chatted about music and braces and his excitement about the Christmas holidays.

The publisher’s coffee was lukewarm but our conversation was sizzling with the release of our new book and the possibility for our new ideas to take shape.

The government meeting: there was money and the will to use it. Time to propose a marriage of groups who for the first time are seeing the value of working together?

Mentoring: teen girls giggling with hopes, fears, and compassion for my attempts to master my new iPhone.

Craft afternoon: the generation gap really does shrink with age.

Immersed in sunshine then chilled in darkness, sap from the maple tree flows watery and colourless, with only a hint of the sweetness within until boiled and bottled, it becomes liquid gold.

Immersed in the moment, chilled in the air of transition and boiled by the constraints of time, the brain is massaged to savour each experience and reveals its sweetness in a flood of inspiration.

There is a point to the busy schedules. It just may take some boiling to find it. And a whole body massage or two, just to be sure.