The work day yesterday ended with an unexpected phone call from a person who is not a client. Not ten seconds into the phone call I began to have my ass chewed 6 different ways. I was completely blindsided and utterly shocked by the audacity. Definitely a “do you know how important I am?” kind of scenario. My entire body was shaking. I did not want to make a rash decision, but I didn’t need it and I sure as heck didn’t deserve it. After more than enough taking it, I gave just a bit back.
Then today, a day I usually work from home, I hustled into work with Finley in tow and spent the hours between 9 and 3 at a full sprint. There was so much to do and it literally felt as if I had a combative trainer crouched on the edge of my seat militantly checking a stopwatch every five minutes and blowing a shrill whistle of disappointment at me. The faster I tried to work the more futile it seemed. Then at noon Ave joined the mix. My chest tightened, the twitch I’ve had in my eye for a week started fluttering double time. Unexpected obstacles sprang up, so while I managed snacks, naps and genuine meals slipped through my fingers.
By 3 I was rushing to get Briar and trying to give the road my attention. I felt like a rubberband with no more snap. Making it home without incident was something for which I genuinely spent a moment uttering a silent thank you. The time between unlocking the door and welcoming Sean home to hours later was filled with attempts to play. The 58 degree weather begged us to come out, but the yard was a 50/50 split os treacherous ice and 3′ snow that wouldn’t hold us. The wind finally chased us in, where I found a flurry of emails demanding more from me.
Not twenty minutes after Sean got home we got the call that his mom was at the ER. Nothing life-threatening, but distressing all the same. After a visit, dinner and stories we all went down for the night like it was our last.
This morning the air is once again cold and punishing, the blues are wafting through the house trying to lay claim on our spirits. I bat them away, trying to conquer them while saving enough fight for the next wave of whatever may come.
Rather than trying to make sense of it all, I am calling on the younger Amanda. She always knew how to see the good. She’d sit up on a craggy hill, beneath a twisted old shrub, the branches curving to accommodate her wiry body, and she’d dream up some happy. No need for playmates or glittery toys. She had everything she needed. So I’m filling up a rag tag basket with memories, I’m counting them again and again and whispering thanks. Because despite uneven ground and wicked bumps, I know there is a good.
It always catches me off-guard when the everyday hustle suddenly becomes too much. I know it’s my body/brain/psyche telling me it needs a break – to slow down – but I can’t help but feel like a failure for not being able to push through just one more day (because tomorrow’s a new day, you see). I’m trying to learn to listen to what I’m telling myself and appreciate the breaks for what they are, but it’s hard when you’ve been used to doing the opposite for so long.
*big, fat, squooshy bewbie hugs & extra love*
Thanks for chasing me out of the house.
Sometimes balancing gets to be too much, doesn’t it? But I have faith in your resiliency, and I know you’re surrounded by the kind of love and goodness that will see you through.
Wouldn’t it be nice if every moment carried at least some of the knowing, instead of, sometimes, just the reflections? Wishing you many more moments of balance.
Hmm. I’m very close to saying that the young Amanda doesn’t really have the strength and the courage to defeat the monsters like the current Amanda does. I never knew the young Amanda, but I’m betting both she and I would stand and gape, slack-jawed at how the current Amanda handles things. I so love the current Amanda. More than chocolate chip oatmeal cookies straight out of the oven (which is saying a lot, coming from a pregnant lady).
What a horrible kind of phone call. It sounds like enough to shake you right out of your skin.
You sound like you certainly handled things like a champ.
It all adds up, doesn’t it? You push your way through and find that spot to breathe in. Sometimes you have to make that spot, but it’s there. You have to count on that.
Hang in there, Amanda.