The Paradox of Productivity

Have you ever noticed how you're actually more productive when you have less time?

I had grand plans for all of the stuff I was going to accomplish over the summer. I was going to crank out blog posts 3-4 times a week. Learn how to write a book proposal and a query letter. Find an agent.

I did skim through a book on writing non-fiction. I actually wrote fewer blog posts than I do when I'm at work because I didn't have very many deep and meaningful thoughts over the summer. I pretty much only thought about my sleep cycle, tennis, and what I'm going to eat. You can only write so many posts about those topics.

I was going to get my jewelry business going again. I was obsessed with making jewelry several years ago and sold a lot of what I made. So I bought all these beads back in January and planned to make some new items over the summer. Take some pictures of them, even. Sell them on Etsy. The only thing I made were some earrings (the purple pair on the left) for my tennis team to match our uniform, but I didn't make any money. I just wanted my team to look cute!

I was going to knit more. I sell some of my jewelry and knitting at my friend's store, The Stitchin' Post, and my knitted items have sold the best, but it takes forever to make the things that I like. I was also going to knit this cute top for myself:

This is the picture from the pattern. I haven't finished mine yet. I've made it to the armholes, but by the time I finish it, I might only have a few weeks left of warm weather, because the top part looks pretty complicated.

I was going to get in better shape. Play more tennis. Add more low-impact cardio like riding my bike. Do some strength training. Throw in some yoga.

I tried to ride my bike, but I couldn't figure how to put the bike rack on. My ex was kind enough to help me do it, but then I couldn't load the bike onto the bike rack by myself. And it was going to take 2 weeks to take it to the shop to get a tune up. I bought something to lubricate the chain that was supposed to be easy to apply, but it still seemed too hard and messy to do by myself. In fact, the whole bike preparation experience made me feel so ill-prepared to live my life alone that I stopped trying because it was depressing me.

I did play tennis more, and I stretched almost every night, but that's about it.

I was going to read more books. I keep track of what books I read throughout the year, and I'm way behind from where I would ordinarily be. So I started reading more when I realized I only had a few weeks left before I had to go back to work. The only problem is, since I read on my iPad, the longer I read, the harder it was to fall asleep because of the back lighting. So then I had to read less so that I could fall asleep before 4 a.m.

All in all, I fell short on almost every goal. Perhaps I was being a tad unrealistic about what I could accomplish in 2 months.

Plus, when I have less time, I get more done because I have to make the most of every minute. Squeeze in a trip to the grocery store right after work, even if I'm tired. Write a blog post if I have a no show. Read a paragraph if my client is running late. When I have all the time in the world, I tell myself that I'll get stuff done eventually. No need to rush.

But I'm not feeling too bad about myself for falling short of my goals. It's good for me to set goals, not because I have to meet all of them, but because it gives me something to strive for. After all, isn't life more about the striving than the end result? At least that's what I tell myself to feel better.

Beginnings and Endings, Part 2

My job follows the academic calendar, so today is my first day back at work. I was never one of those kids who looked forward to the beginning of school. I didn't care about seeing my friends; I didn't want to have to do homework. I didn't want to have to go to bed and wake up early. I pretty much have the same mentality now that I did when I was in elementary school. Some things never change, I guess.

My summers follow a distinct pattern: I have a hard time transitioning from being stressed and having to be super-productive to not having a whole lot that needs to get done. Boredom doesn't do justice to the intensity of how badly I feel during that adjustment period. It's more like, my existence is a complete waste of time. I have nothing of value to offer to the world. I know it's is my inner critic talking, but it still makes me question my worth. I think that's why most people would rather be stressed than bored: it makes you feel more useful.

However, by the time I have about 2 weeks of vacation left, I start panicking about having to go back to work. I don't want to feel stressed out again--to be on call, have back-to-back clients, rush to get my nightly routine completed. By the end of the summer, I feel like I could quit my job altogether. But I have no one to support me, so that's not an option.

This summer I had the added adjustment of being alone for the first time. Braking down on the side of the freeway alone. Attending weddings alone. Spending holidays and weekends alone. At least when I was working, I was guaranteed to see people every day. Over the summer, I had to make plans to motivate myself to leave the house, and sometimes I couldn't do it.

Plus, I was also going through the steps to finalize my divorce, so I no longer had the illusion that I could return to the more stable state of matrimony. I didn't date anyone or even have someone I could fantasize about dating. Well, I guess there's Federer, but even in his case, the most I could imagine was being one of the nannies for his new twin boys. Not terribly romantic.

Despite the struggles with boredom, reversed sleep cycles, and solitude, I think the highs and lows actually helped me tolerate my emotions better. I would remind myself that boredom and loneliness are painful sometimes, but I'll be busy eventually. (Usually the next day, because I played in 7 tennis leagues and captained 5 of them over the summer.) And when school starts and I'm feeling overwhelmed, I'll remind myself that I have a long break to look forward to at the end of the term.

I think it also helped that I spent the past 2 weeks on vacation with family and friends. It was the highlight of the summer, but it was also hard to be around people 24-7. Now that I am accustomed to extended periods of solitude, I realize how much I need down time to feel sane. So by the time my vacation ended on Friday, I was ready to go home. Ready to catch up on tennis, blogging, and even work.

This summer was a good reminder of how, even when something seems intolerable, that feeling will pass. And you might even find value in the experience that you hated so much at that time.

Darkness and Light

Sometimes I feel like a less murderous version of Jekyll and Hyde. That's one of the reasons why it's so hard to get my sleep cycle under control.

I feel the most alive late at night. Before I go to bed I have all these ambitious plans for what I'm going to get done the next day. My mind is racing with ideas for my blog. It's all I can do to keep myself from starting a post at 3 a.m. But I can't, because I'll run the risk of staying up all night and reversing my sleep cycle. A big no-no when you struggle with depression. So I take drugs to force myself to fall asleep, even though I like this version of myself the best.

By morning that cheery, motivated version of me is replaced by this sullen person who prefers sleep over life itself. No amount of yelling, begging, or bribing can get her out of bed before she wants to. And even after she gets up, she's still in a bad mood for several hours. Why would anyone want to go to sleep at night if that's who you have to face the next day?

In Jungian psychology, Jekyll and Hyde is an example of the persona/shadow archetype. Jung argued that, although most people would prefer to identify with their persona, it is important to acknowledge our shadow in order to be whole. Dr. Jekyll is so horrified by his dark side that he commits suicide in order to destroy it--which is the exact opposite of being whole.

This blog is probably the first time that I've publicly acknowledged my shadow. And I have to say, it is the thing that people thank me for the most. Because it gives them permission to acknowledge their own darkness. It assures them that they are not the only ones who feel and think the way they do. So Jung has a point. Who would have thought that acknowledging one's darkness would be the thing that makes people feel the most connected to one another?

So maybe I shouldn't be so hard on that sullen person I will see when I wake up tomorrow afternoon. She's given me a lot of material for blog posts.

Guilt

I talked to my therapist last week. She gave me permission to stop feeling guilty about my sleep cycle. Told me that I have no reason to get up early, so I don't need to worry about it. That when I have to wake up, I will do so.

It helped some. Today I woke up early for a tennis clinic. But then I took a nap afterwards, which was well-deserved but still somewhat guilt-laden. But I'm writing a blog post now, to prove to my inner critic that I am not completely worthless.

Those quotes about letting go kind of annoy me. If guilt were something I could just let go of, I would have done so long ago. It's like telling someone who is anorexic to just eat. Put food in your mouth. Chew. Swallow. What's so hard about that? I envy those people who find it so easy to be free of their demons.

Therapists often ask clients what it is that they fear will happen if they let go. I guess I fear that without guilt, I really will become a terrible person. Someone who doesn't care if she hurts other people. Someone who is not living her life with integrity. Maybe I'll go too far in the other direction. I've done it before.

In Shame and Guilt, Tangeny and Dearing argue that guilt is a healthy emotion. It let's you know that you have done something wrong and motivates you to make amends, correct it. When you feel shame, however, you don't just feel like you've done something wrong; you feel like there is something fundamentally wrong with you. You are broken beyond repair. Shame leads people to lash out and project their faults onto others, or to lie and hide.

I guess I am somewhere in-between, because I worry that there is something wrong with me, but I am motivated--determined, even--to become a better person.

My latest strategy for coping with guilt about the past is to tell myself that I don't have to continue entertaining this memory. I can take it out of the rotation. Throw that record out. Or in more modern terms, remove it from the playlist. I have enough things to feel guilty about in the present without revisiting every mistake I've ever made in the past.

For whatever reason, it works. In part because I think it's funny, imagining myself tossing all these record albums behind me. It doesn't get rid of all of the guilt, but it creates some space in my head for more guilt-free thoughts. That's something.

The Battle Against Depression

I really wish that so much of my existence did not revolve around obsessing about sleep. I'm tired of writing about it, and I'm sure you're sick of reading about it. But this is the reality of my existence at the moment, and I am committed to being honest about my current state of mind.

Today was another day that was filled with sleep. It makes me feel like such a failure. My colleagues don't struggle to make it to work because they can't get out of bed. The physicians in my family never even take a sick day. Some depressed people manage to take care of their families. I can barely take care of myself. What is my excuse for my weakness?

Then I thought of physical conditions that leave people debilitated. Migraine headaches. Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. Lyme disease. Do the people who suffer from these conditions feel paralyzed with guilt and shame when they can't get out of bed? Or do they accept their fatigue as being part of their illness rather than a personal failing?

I think about the recommendations I give to clients who are depressed. Exercise. Get sunlight. Be social. Regulate your sleep cycle. If someone had the flu, you would tell them to rest. Listen to your body. But with depression, we tell people to ignore what their bodies and minds are telling them and to do the opposite. Fight it! Don't give in!

Don't get me wrong. I do all of these things when I can, and they work. After sleeping most of the day, I forced myself to do laundry, get some lunch, wave at my neighbors, put together my tennis schedule for the new league, and play tennis for 3 hours to make up for my lack of steps from yesterday. And I'm writing this blog post now. 

Because if I gave in to the desire to do nothing, I wouldn't really be trying to get better. I wouldn't be taking responsibility for my illness. But I don't think it's fair to hold it against someone if their depression is so severe that it's too much effort to go outside and get sunlight. Because sometimes I'm that person, too.

When I have a client who cannot will themselves to follow these recommendations, I don't judge them for it. But I tell them to keep trying to do them. And no mental health professional that I know would tell a client that if they felt like they need to sleep they should listen to their bodies and rest.

There is an article circulating on the internet about how for some depressed people, positive reframing doesn't work. Telling the person to be positive actually makes them feel worse. That it's better to support them by expressing empathy for their feelings. 

Perhaps someday, researchers are going to find that listening to your body when you are depressed is sometimes more effective than fighting it with wakeful activities like forced exercise and socialization--two things that can be difficult to do even when you're not depressed.

I'm going to do my own case study to see if this works.

Being Neighborly

Today was one of those tough, lonely days. Even when the day starts out slowly, I usually have tennis in the afternoon, which helps me to feel productive. But no tennis tonight because of the rain. So it was hard to will myself to wake up after a long nap when there was nothing to look forward to but errands.

I did finally manage to bribe myself to get up with kettle corn. (I ate all of it, so I'll have to think of something else for tomorrow.) And I talked myself into walking to the mailbox to get some steps. I ran into some of my neighbors, who chastised me in a friendly way for not being social. Which made me feel like a terrible person, of course.

I mentioned in a previous blog that I don't socialize with my neighbors as much as they would like me to. In addition to not being retired, playing tennis almost every day, and not having much in common with senior citizens, the truth is, I've never been very neighborly. I think it's because I hate small talk. I avoid it at all costs.

To make matters worse, when I am home alone I am usually sleeping because it's so unbearable to be awake when I have nothing to look forward to. I thought about telling my neighbors that. How I'm often too depressed to overcome my aversion to making small talk to be neighborly. That leaving the house to check my mail was a big step for me. But that seemed like TMI.

I know they genuinely want to get to know me and want me to feel welcomed, but I wanted to cry after talking to them. I felt like this was just one more thing I should be doing that I was failing at. Right up there with regulating my sleep cycle, adhering to my GERD diet, and getting 10,000 steps. I hate it that my inner critic turns everything into an opportunity to fail.

So I'm blogging about this incident to diminish my inner critic's power to make me feel bad about myself. I'm doing the best I can do. There will always be more that I could be doing. I can only focus on my goals for today. I made it to my dentist appointment. I freaking walked to Kroger, which is a huge accomplishment (but sadly, only got me about 3,000 steps). And I am writing this blog post.

And I talked to my neighbors when I got my mail. Which wasn't even on my list. So there!

Change

You know how I said I'm not good with endings? Well, I'm not that good with beginnings, either. I think I just don't like change, in general.

I'm like my niece in that way. When we were on vacation last month, she threw a fit when she found out that she was going to start summer camp when she got back home. Even though she knew she was going to summer camp before we left for vacation. And she goes to summer camp every year. She cried about it right up until she had to go on Monday morning. Of course, when I asked my brother how her first day of camp went, she thought it was awesome.

It's funny how our brains work that way. There is some part of us that is like a child, and no amount of reasoning or memory-jogging can talk us out of our dread of something that we are actually going to enjoy. The difference is, when it happens with kids, you accept it as being irritating but normal. When you're an adult, you think it's crazy. Well, that's how I think of myself, at least.

This past weekend I went to my friend's wedding. I wasn't looking forward to it because I was going to have to drive to Florida by myself and go to the wedding dateless. I tried to squeeze in as many visits with friends as possible to break up the trip and to have more to look forward to. I tried to tell myself it could be like a romantic comedy where I meet some great guy. But my inner child Sophie was having none of it; she whined and cried just the same.

Because of my night-owlness, I could not fall asleep the night before, so I woke up late as usual. Which filled me with guilt and shame for being a bad friend. I was speeding the whole way down there, trying to make it in time for at least some of the rehearsal dinner. Until my car broke down. My 4 hour drive turned into an 8 hour drive, a good portion of which was spent on the shoulder of I-95 talking to unhelpful people who supposedly deal with roadside emergencies. It felt like punishment for having a bad attitude.

I didn't meet some guy at the wedding. And I still don't have my car. And the car rental and repairs are going to cost me about a grand. But that's OK. It was still worth it. I had a good time at the wedding, and I was honored to be included in my friend's innermost circle. Things could have turned out much worse with my car. Plus, I'm getting an extra day of vacation out of it.

I guess that's one important difference between being a child and having an inner child. In the latter case, hopefully you also have a part that is an adult who can make you do things that you don't feel like doing. Because the adult knows that you'll be OK in the end. Perhaps that's what it means to be an adult--to be someone who understands the nature of change.

Who knows? Maybe I'll get there someday.

Mental Hygiene

Negativity is like a virus. Even if you are vigilant about taking your meds, challenging irrational thoughts, praying, meditating, and practicing self-acceptance, forgiveness, and compassion, it just takes one negative comment--one careless psychological sneeze--and you're contaminated.

I've had 3 people sneeze on me today. In an effort to avoid contaminating you with too much negativity, I'll just tell you about the most egregious of the 3 incidents.

I had my follow up appointment with my psychiatrist today. Thank goodness I only have to go twice a year. It's a 3 and 1/2 hour drive round trip for a 30 minute appointment, and there's very little about that 30 minutes that is therapeutic. While my psychiatrist knows his drugs, he's not a particularly good therapist, to put it mildly. Which is OK, I guess, because I have a therapist. But I have to talk about something.

Because I have chronic sleep issues due to my night-owlness, I confessed that I've been struggling with regulating my sleep cycle now that I'm not working. Every time I tell him what time I go to sleep and wake up, he makes this judgmental face that looks like he just sucked on a lemon. Then he proceeds to tell me what the research says about the importance of waking up at the same time every day, especially when you have a history of depression. How I need to get morning sunlight, I shouldn't take naps, I need to be more disciplined, blah blah blah.

I am not good at constructive criticism, but I did manage to say that I'm trying. That I spend an inordinate amount of time obsessing about sleep. So much so that it probably interferes with my sleep. He can read my blog if he wants proof.

But I wish I could say something more honest. Something like, you make me feel like crap when you make that stupid face and give me a lecture on sleep hygiene that I already know by heart because I am a clinical psychologist, in case you've forgotten.  Every time I see you, you just give my inner critic ammunition to tell me how I'm failing at sleep hygiene and that I suck. You are supposed to be helping me with my mental health--not making it worse. Oh, and by the way, your waiting room smells like mold and you need to clean your freaking office and water your damn plants. It doesn't reflect well on you that your plants are dying! 

But I don't want to come across as being too negative.

Does anyone ever give their doctor honest feedback when they do something unhelpful? I try to imagine what my reaction would be if a client brought to my attention that my facial expression conveyed blatant disapproval of what a terrible job they're doing of trying to get better. It would be a shock, no question. But I don't want to convey disapproval and judgment, so I think I would want to know. I think I would try to be more aware of my facial expressions. But as I mentioned in a previous post, we are terrible predictors of how we will act in the future. So maybe I would just be pissed off.

Maybe I can think of this as an opportunity to practice constructive criticism. Maybe I'll talk to my therapist about it and see if she thinks it's worth it to say something. Not what I wrote above, of course. But something.

Or maybe I could just tell him that my latest blog post is dedicated to him so he should read it. That would be hilarious!

I'll let you know what I do. In the meantime, I encourage all of you to do your part in preventing the spread of negativity. Please remember to cover your mouth before your criticize. (And not in that passive-aggressive way where you cover your mouth while you fake cough and mumble something critical under your breath, either. You know what I'm taking about.)

 I think this doodle looks like germs.

Birthday Reflections

So I'm reading The Fault in Our Stars for book club, which is told from the perspective of a 16 year old girl with cancer, and guess what? I still talk like a teenager. Yup. Some of her comments could have come straight from my blog.

Even though I turn 45 today, I guess I can consider this a compliment, since this is a best seller with a movie that is a box office hit and has gotten great reviews. So if I sound immature, at least it's in a way that people can relate to. And if you've read the book, then you know that Hazel Grace is no ordinary 16 year old. For example, she refutes the adage that without pain, we cannot know joy by pointing out that "the existence of broccoli does not in any way affect the taste of chocolate." I love that!

Still, I find it ironic to discover that I still talk like a teenager as I hit what is irrefutably middle age. I thought I would be OK with it, because it's not like I didn't know I was middle-aged. And as long as I don't hit a prime number, I'm usually fine. And 45 is divisible by 3 and 5, so I figured I was safe until I turned 47. But no. Mother Nature likes to rub it in your face that you are becoming an old lady, and I received a couple of early birthday gifts just to make sure I was aware of this. 

Before someone sends me that quote about how old age is a privilege that not everyone gets to benefit from, let me preempt you by saying that I am grateful for my life. It's just that signs of getting older bring up that feeling that I talked about in the Beginnings and Endings post. Sadness about the loss of gifts that I had not even been aware of until I began to lose them. Anxiety about the losses to come. Panic about how fleeting time is. 

I am afraid I am not one of those brave souls who will embrace aging with grace and dignity. I'm pretty sure I'm going to go kicking and screaming, fighting it every step of the way. I guess this is one of the downsides of being a warrior. 

I've been thinking about what I could say in this post for several days now. I was really struggling with how to make it positive, since my goal is to be honest, and I have honestly been in a place of sadness and anxiety about getting older. 

But I pray about blog posts, too. I pray that God will give me the inspiration to come up with something to say that will be helpful to someone, even if that someone is just me. So far, God has always answered this prayer. Today was no exception.

This morning, as I warned my inner critic that it was not allowed to make me feel guilty about sleeping in on my birthday, I leisurely checked out my birthday messages on my phone and FB, and I was humbled by how many of them there were so early in the morning. Well, early in the morning for me, at least. And I got the message: the one gift that will grow with age is love. 

The feelings of love that I have for others will only deepen, as will their love for me. And as I get older, the more people I include in the circle of who I care about. Blogging, which I also consider a gift from God, has dramatically increased the number of people who have been brought into my life. So I have a great deal of love to look forward to, for as long as I may live.

Plus, I will always have an inner infant, Sophie, and now a teenager, as well as a slew of other parts in my internal family. They are always vying for my attention, letting me know that they are there, whether I want to hear from them or not. Through the process of blogging--and aging--I am learning that these parts I've been at war with also love me, although they show it in ways that are sometimes annoying.

So I am thankful to God, and to all of you, for reminding me on my birthday how blessed I am with love.

Psychological Energy Conservation

Being single has its advantages. I never realized how much energy I was expending on compromising and trying to make things work. It's lonely at times but much more relaxing. So much so that I think I'm going to give up all of my high maintenance relationships. Maybe it will help me cut down on my crash and burn days. 

In fact, I'm thinking about promoting a psychological energy conservation campaign modeled after Go Green. Instead of Reduce, Reuse, Recycle, my slogan is Refrain, Reframe, Reevaluate. Since my tag line is less intuitive, let me elaborate.

1.  Refrain.  I'm going to do a better job of setting boundaries. Before, if someone asked me to do something, I felt like I had to do it if I was capable of doing so. Whether I wanted to or not was irrelevant. Or whether it was in my best interest to do so. But you know what? I can just say no. No, I'm not available at that time. No, I don't want to go to that wedding. No, I don't have room for you on my team.

I can also resist the urge to help people when helping them means hurting myself. My rationale in the past has been that I can take it, so it's OK. I can lose sleep. I can get my heart broken. I can sacrifice my time. But it's not OK. I always tell clients that you have to put yourself first, because you can't rely on other people to do so, even if they love you. If its a choice between you and someone else, pick you. So I'm picking me.

2.  Reframe.  I waste a lot of time beating myself up for things I can't control. Like being angry, or anxious, or exhausted. So I'm trying to reframe my feelings in a way that helps me to be more accepting of them. 

Lately, when my inner critic gives me a hard time for obsessing, I stand up for myself. Of course I'm obsessing! That's my thing. That's what I do. Why wouldn't I be doing it right now? That shuts him up. And it actually helps me to stop obsessing. 

And I've come up with another part to help me be more forgiving of myself for my anger. I think of my anger as a bouncer who is trying to keep people who have hurt me from getting back into the club. Because I'm standing at the door saying, of course you can come in! Make yourself comfortable. Can I get you anything? The bouncer gets mad at me when I do this, and who can blame him, really. Someone needs to be strong enough to kick these people out.

3.  Reevaluate.  I need to do an energy assessment after I crash and burn, rather than assume it happened because I'm a crazy, weak, bad person. If I choose to blog during lunch instead of take a nap and catch up on sleep, I might be tired later in the week.  Same thing with staying up until 2 a.m. Or choosing to captain 2 teams at the same time. Or playing 5 times a week. I can do it, but I have to be ready to pay the consequences later.

I can become more aware of what I need, rather than judge myself for what I think I should need, if I were a normal person. I can allow myself to do what works best for me. I'm the most productive after 7 p.m., so that's when I'm going to get my chores done. I'd rather work nonstop for 2 hours than leisurely spend the day working. And my favorite time of day is between 11 p.m. and 2 a.m., so I'm going to let myself enjoy those hours, even if it means that I'll sleep until noon the next day.

I'm thinking this campaign could really catch on. Think how much more energy we would all have for the things that are important to us if we used it more wisely. Heck, I might even win the Nobel Prize like Al Gore.

Fatigue

I don't know if you've noticed or not, but I have a tendency to be a little hard on myself at times.

Yesterday I had another one of those days where I slept 14 hours and didn't get up until 4 p.m. And then I still went to bed at my normal bedtime (1 a.m.) and didn't get up until 9:30. So as punishment for my excessive sleeping, I decided that I didn't deserve a cappuccino today. My colleague thought that seemed a little harsh, but it makes perfect sense to me. 

But in an effort to be kinder to myself, I'm trying to come up with alternative explanations for why I have been so tired, other than that I am weak, crazy, a bad person, etc. Here's what I've come up with:

1.  I'm depressed. But other than the fatigue and excessive sleeping, I don't really feel depressed. And even if it is depression, I'm already doing everything I can to treat it.

2.  I have some physical illness like chronic fatigue syndrome. This is possible, given that I didn't know I had asthma for a long time, and it accounted for what I perceived as a lack of mental toughness on the tennis court. On the one hand, it would be a relief to have a valid excuse. On the other hand, there would probably be some medication that I would have to take for that condition, too, which would be annoying. 

3.  I'm tired because it's the end of the semester, and I'm always tired at the end of the semester. This would make the most sense, but it still bothers me because my colleagues don't collapse from exhaustion at the end of the term, so that still makes me feel weak.

4.  I'm tired because I'm captaining and playing on 2 tennis teams and playing 4-5 times a week. This also makes sense. Until recently, I was only captaining 1 team and playing 2-3 times a week. But how lame is that to be exhausted from too much recreation? Boo hoo!

5.  My anxiety is leading to mental and physical exhaustion. This is also possible. But then I start beating myself up about not having a reason for feeling anxious. And I'm not really sure what I can do about that other than to take the Ativan sooner when I'm having an anxiety attack rather than suffering for several hours. But the Ativan might make me sleepy.

6.  Blogging is mentally exhausting. All this honesty and self-disclosure is pretty draining. And I hardly ever used social media before. Now I have to use it all the time as part of my blogger duties, which kind of feels like homework. Still, I've never heard of anyone needing more sleep from intensive blogging.

7.  I don't need to know the reason why. My feelings are always legitimate. It doesn't matter what other people are or are not able to do; I have to honor my own needs. I may really need more than 8 hours of sleep, and most of the time I don't even get that.

If this were a multiple choice question where I had to pick the best answer, I guess I'd have to go with #7, because this is what I tell my clients, over and over again, until they believe it. And I don't want to be a hypocrite. Because my inner critic would give me a hard time about that, too.

Anxiety

I have always been an anxious person, but ever since my last depressive episode, my anxiety has gotten worse--especially around sleep. Which is terrible, because I love sleep more than anything. I started having anxiety attacks in the middle of the night. Or when I'm trying to fall asleep. Or when I wake up. Or before, during, and after a nap. In fact, I refer to naps as demon sleep. But I rely on naps to make up for the sleep that I miss out on because of my 1 a.m. bedtime.

I don't want to call these episodes panic attacks, because that does injustice to people who have full-blown panic attacks. I don't feel like I'm dying or having a heart attack. I'm not completely debilitated. But it does hurt. It's like I have a bunch of bees buzzing inside my body. Or I have the psychological equivalent of a high pitched noise in my head that I can't turn off. Or I feel physically and emotionally paralyzed. Or I feel like someone has punched me in the heart. I think that's why my chest muscles are so tight--I have to absorb anxiety's blows to my body.

I've written about how obsessive I am and how easily my inner infant gets rattled. Those forms of anxiety are annoying, but I've gotten use to them. I'm learning to accept that they are just a part of how my brain works. But when I have an anxiety attack with no apparent trigger, I feel crazy and weak. 

It's funny, because if I'm talking to someone else, I can convince them that they don't need a reason to be anxious or depressed. That their feelings are valid, even if they don't make sense. That it doesn't make them crazy or weak. And they feel better afterwards. But saying these things to myself doesn't have the same effect.

I guess that's why it helps to tell someone else. Because without someone else's reassurance, it's hard to release the power that your inner demons have over you. When it's just you and your demons, they convince you that you're letting yourself off the hook too easily. You're just lying to yourself. You're really a bad person.

Last week when I wrote the self-compassion post, I was beating myself up for my lame excuses for feeling depressed. But after I gave myself permission to write them down, they didn't seem so lame. And then when I got all these messages from people asking me if I was OK, I started to feel like my suffering might be real. And then I felt better!

So I thought I would try it again this week. And I just took half of an Ativan for good measure.

Self-Compassion

My compassion reserves are running low. In my last relationship I took the words of Jesus and Buddha literally about how we should be able to love everyone. It was practically a 3 year exercise in compassion. But by the end I wondered if perhaps I had misunderstood what they meant about loving others. It was a lot of work to have to channel Buddha and Christ just to tolerate being in his presence. I feel like I'm experiencing a backlash now. All those feelings I tried to deny are coming out with a vengeance. I guess I was supposed to have compassion for myself, too.

I'm not very good at self-compassion. Every time I try, the Inner Critic berates me for whining about my problems when I have a good life. I don't know what pain is. I'm not living in a war-torn country. My life hasn't been devastated by natural disasters or school shootings. All of the people I love are still alive. Who am I to complain? 

But surely I must have the right to honor my feelings. My suffering must count, too, if God cares about all of us. So I'm going to write about what's upsetting me, without apologizing for it or justifying it or willing myself to be positive. 

This week I will be moving closer to divorce. Filing forms. Getting documents notarized. More tears. More snot. You would think there would be a limit to how much it's possible to cry over something. That 4 years would be more than enough time. I used to pray to God--plead, even--to tell me what I could do that would allow both of us to be happy. Leaving seemed like it would just make us both miserable. And it has. And I don't see an end in sight for me, at least. I'm trying not to blame God or myself. But in this moment, my faith in a happy future is wavering and I feel like I deserve the pain.

I have 2 family members who are currently on the opposite ends of the bipolar spectrum. My brother is trying so hard but still feels terrible.  It hurts me that he's hurting. My dad is manic. Mania feels great for the person experiencing it, but it's hell for the rest of us. But what power do I have to make him see?  If he were my client, I could make him see our psychiatrist, get him on meds. But as a daughter, I am practically useless.

I'm afraid to answer the phone when my parents call. Which makes me feel horribly guilty, because I know their time on earth is limited and I will regret not talking to them more when they're gone. But the call is almost always about something bad. Something I'm expected to fix. Or something I don't want to do. At minimum, I'm supposed to be a receptacle for the stress, but I can't take it. It's too much. I'm not able to function afterwards.  

So I have to be strategic about when I call or when I answer. It has to be a time when it will be OK if I fall apart. But since it's hard to choose something where there's a good chance you'll fall apart, I often forget to call altogether. Which makes me feel even guiltier and reactivates the vicious cycle. I wish it could be easier. I wish there were some way I could be a good daughter but also protect myself. 

It takes a lot of work to maintain my health. Since I have GERD, allergies, and exercise-induced asthma, I have to take shots, nasal sprays, pills, steroid inhalers, rescue inhalers. I'm not supposed to have coffee and chocolate. I can't eat or drink 3 hours before exercise or bed time. If I drink too much during a match, I'll even throw up water. It's frustrating to have to worry about throwing up every time I play. Or brush my teeth, even. But giving up dental hygiene and tennis are not options.

My mental health is always hanging in the balance. It's work to maintain my sleep cycle because of my night owlness. I can't miss any of my drugs. I can't miss Ativan for even one night. I meditate, pray, journal, exercise, and all of the other self-care strategies. But despite my best efforts, I can never make it to the end of the term without burning out before I cross the finish line. I can't handle the stress of my life. I can't get out of bed right now. It makes me feel weak. Inadequate. Unable to do the basic tasks of life.

Just got a call from my lawyer friend that my paperwork looks good to go, so I guess I'll be filing for divorce this week for sure. If you believe in God, feel free to say a prayer for me. If you don't, send positive vibes my way.

Suffering and Compassion

I have a confession to make. I did not go to church yesterday. I don't really have an excuse, except that I can't get out of bed unless I absolutely have to because of my sleep problems. And because I rarely go to church. In all honesty, I'm not a very good Catholic (but still a good person--most of the time). But I do try to go on Christmas, Palm Sunday, and Easter, at least. So for my penance, I thought I would write about what Holy Week means to me. 

I really like the reading of the Passion. It's the place where I can relate the most to Jesus because it is where he is the most human. One of my favorite parts is where Jesus is praying in the garden of Gethsemane. My interpretation of his prayer goes something like this: God, I will do this if I have to, but if there's any way that I don't have to, please let me know. To me, this shows that even the Son of God was afraid of the suffering that he was about to face, and I find great comfort in that. 

I have said a version of this prayer many times. In the last few years I have started asking God what He wants me to do, which is always a little scary. What if it's something that will be painful? But I figure if God asks you to do something, it's best to say yes. So my prayer goes something like this: God, if there's anything that I'm supposed to be doing, let me know, and I'll do it. But please give me the courage to do it, too. 

The other part I like is where Jesus cries out on the cross, asking God why He has abandoned him.
I find comfort in this, too. One of the things that has always been difficult for me to comprehend is how God can allow people to suffer needlessly. I talked about this in my post on God's Will. But when I think about the Passion, I don't know where I even got the idea that we are not supposed to suffer. If anything, the life of Christ shows us that no one is immune to suffering. Even if we're really, really good, it's still going to happen.

Lately I've been talking about empathy as though it were a curse because it's overwhelming to have to feel other people's pain all the time. But I know it's a gift to be able to give someone the experience of knowing how they feel. For me, reading the Passion is a reminder that Jesus is with us in our suffering, because he has suffered, too. Which is literally what compassion is about.

A few years ago my niece was obsessed with Jesus. Even though it was Christmas, she wanted to know more about how Jesus died on the cross. The next year she drew this picture as a Christmas card. I guess for her, the Passion is also the most memorable part of the life of Jesus.

Night Owl Syndrome, Part 2

I started this blog with a post about the stress of trying to regulate my sleep cycle.  Particularly since it was the beginning of the year and I had been off for 3 months--plenty of time to revert to my more natural night owl state.

I am in the same predicament this week, except that my sleep cycle is even more out of whack than usual.  In addition to the normal job stress and abrupt transition into having nothing to do at the end of the term, I was also dealing with the fallout from the student death and extended periods of loneliness and isolation.  I fell into a pattern of going to bed at 4 am and waking up at 4 pm, with a few hours of wakefulness in between.  And as usual, I was racked with guilt and self-loathing about this.

My dad and two of my brothers are also night owls.  While my family was together over Christmas, my dad hardly slept at all, and when he did it was well past 2 am.  One of my brothers went to bed around 6 am.  The other brother woke up around 6 pm.  Yet they did not appear to be racked with the same guilt and self-loathing as me. 

Which is the reason why I originally started this blog.  Accepting who I am, including my obsessive tendencies, problems with guilt, and wacky sleep schedule, takes continuous practice.  If I neglect to do it, I fall prey to depression and anxiety.

And writing about how I was feeling during that period definitely helped.  It was cathartic.  It helped me to remember what I tell my clients. It provided me support, positive feedback, and extra angels.  And some of the most depressing posts were among the most popular ones, so I know I'm not alone.

Perhaps I should start recommending blogging as an important component of self-care.  Right up there with sleep, exercise, food, and mindfulness.

Last night I went to bed before 1 am without having to rely on extra Ativan.  And I woke up at 7 am because I had a doctor's appointment.  That's as close to a "normal" sleep cycle as it gets for me.  So going back to work has been a good thing.  Still,  if I didn't have to go back this week, I wouldn't have. 

Fortunately, sometimes you are forced to do things that are good for you, whether you want to or not.  

Meet the Drill Sergeant

I am now about to introduce you to one of my most challenging parts.  I call this part the drill sergeant.  Many of you may have a similar part.  My drill sergeant demands productivity at all costs, and not in a nice way.

I am not a morning person, as I indicated in my first post.  The drill sergeant doesn't give a crap.  He (I think of it as a he) doesn't give a crap if it's a weekend, either; he still wants me to get up.  I don't listen to him, of course, but I pay the price.  For every extra hour of sleep I try to get, the drill sergeant yells at me, telling me how other people are up doing normal people productive things, while I am lying in bed wasting my life away. 

It doesn't matter if I don't have anything pressing to do.  The drill sergeant will make up random to do lists as though these things are of the utmost importance.  You need to wash those bath mats! There are scraps of paper all over the house that need to be put in the recycling!  I'm pretty sure there's a mug in the sink that needs to be washed!  Get up!

I have been sick for the last few days, which is very frustrating for the drill sergeant.  I always get sick at this time of the year because, despite my best attempts to manage the stress of my job, I still get exhausted and can't function.  The drill sergeant is frustrated because I was just two days from making it to Thanksgiving break, but I had to miss a day of work, anyway.  And I have to say, that frustrates me, too.  But what can I do?  I don't even feel like playing tennis.  Or eating!  If you know me, you know that's bad.

In my efforts to practice self-acceptance, I'm trying to get to know the drill sergeant better, understand his point of view.  I can see how he's trying to prevent me from a life of sloth-hood.  And I do have to wake up early to get to work.  And sometimes you really do need your drill sergeant, like when you have to channel your inner warrior on the tennis court.

So I've struck a deal with my drill sergeant.  As long as I am waking up when I need to, fulfilling my obligations, and being a productive member of society, he can be at ease.  But I have promised to call upon him when I am in need of some ass-kicking motivation. 

So far, it seems to be working.

This doodle reflects my less positive emotional state at the moment.  I think it looks like some kind of scary octopus with floating eyeballs, albeit in pretty colors.

Night Owl Syndrome

I spend a lot of my waking hours thinking about sleep.  I have to be vigilant about getting to bed at a reasonable hour, which for me is before 1 am.  This is difficult because I am a night owl, and I have to make myself go to sleep during the part of the day that I most enjoy just because the world revolves around the early bird's schedule.  Plus people judge me for staying up late and waking up late.  I consider this a form of prejudice and discrimination that Ben Franklin is at least partly to blame.

I read recently that night owls are more prone to feeling depressed because they are forced to conform to an unnatural sleep cycle.  I would have to agree because four out of six of the people in my family are night owls and we all have mood disorders.  To make matters worse, people with mood disorders are sensitive to disruptions in sleep because they can trigger a depressive episode. 

It's a lot of work trying to make myself sleep early.  I have to take at least 1 mg of Ativan every night, sometimes 2.  I am also prone to anxiety, and at night I'm rushing around trying to do all these things to minimize my stress for the next day like take a shower, dry my hair, pack my lunch, set the coffee maker, pick out my clothes, pack my tennis stuff, stretch, etc. 

The problem is that doing all of this stuff to reduce my stress is also stressful, so I end up being wired before going to bed.  Kind of like when you have an exam and you've spent all night studying and by the time you go to bed formulas and vocabulary words and theories are still running through your head. 

So then I have to do all of this stuff to try to exhaust my brain--usually some kind of mind game.  I used to do Minesweeper, but I get so pissed off when I make a mistake that I have to keep playing until I win, or at least have to guess 50/50 on the last square, which means I end up staying up later than I intended.  Lately I've been doing the expert level of Sudoku because it's still challenging and doesn't take as long and you can make 3 mistakes and still win. 

But it's hard to get myself to stop playing even after I win.  I am really competitive, and I have this need to train myself  to concentrate even though I'm exhausted.  Like it's some kind of military mind exercise or something.  I have to talk to that competitive part like it's a child and say something like, OK we agreed that you can play until 12:30 so you have to put the game away now.  I'll tell you more about my internal family in another post.

I also need more than the average amount of sleep--more like 9 or 10 hours--which makes getting enough sleep a challenge.  Usually I can squeeze in a cat nap in at lunch, and sometimes I can get in another hour or so if I have an opening in my schedule. 

But then I feel guilty because I'm sleeping at work.  And even when I have the time to sleep late, wake up late, and take a nap and have permission to take the Ativan as needed I still feel guilty because I feel like I'm not living life correctly or something.  I'm not doing what normal people do.

My job has really picked up in the last few weeks, and it's only going to get busier from here, so I have no choice but to try to be an early bird, at least during the week.  So far so good, though. Even though I had two tennis matches last night, I was in bed by 12:30.  And because I didn't have a 9 or 10 am appointment, I was able to sleep until 9.  And I don't feel guilty about it.  So I'm feeling pretty good at the moment.

Dreaming Heart Photography (dreamingheart.com)