Tri-Umphant Living

Burn The Bathrobe

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I’m tired. And I don’t have anything positive to say. It feels like too much work to pull out the pompoms. To pull myself up by my boot straps. I’d rather float around in a foggy-headed daze. Numb and disconnected from myself. The longer I sit in this floaty state, the easier it is to stay. It is my cocoon from the world. It is my, “why bother?” place.

The thing is, I stopped moving. I got sick on Friday, 2/12/16. I walked in the door after a long day — chilled and achy — and I immediately started a fire before I even took off my coat. As I placed the last log on the pile and struck the match, I stood up and said in a surprised tone, “I’m sick. I think I need to go to bed.” I stepped away from the fireplace, turned, walked up stairs and crawled under the covers. I never do that. Ever.

I stayed there through Tuesday and was in and out of bed for the rest of week. Walloped by the flu. Which is awful, by the way. I found myself saying I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. But actually that isn’t true; I would wish it on both of them. I found myself wondering if I was going to have to go to the hospital. Tamiful helped. But it killed my stomach. And I have a cough that lingers still.

As I’ve gotten better, I still haven’t moved my body. When I don’t move I start to shut down and everything feels harder. I’m retreating into myself and resorting to my childhood survival skills of getting really small and just curling up into a quiet place inside of myself. Numb.

I’m so disappointed by life. I never wanted it to feel so hard. I thought I could be okay with the messiness of it all, because as I say — things shift. Clouds blow past. Life is our human experience and it doesn’t come easy for any of us. Our perception matters. Our thoughts help. We have control over both. But what happens when you just feel like wallowing?

I feel like wallowing. Slipping away. Shutting down. Turning inward. Why bother? What’s the point? It will just be hard again. And again.

I’m thinking about pulling out of Ironman Texas. I don’t have the heart to keep pushing. Rob and I are so different. He’ll keep working at all costs. I’d rather walk away. Slip into a little VW Microbus and wander the world aimlessly. Not really existing anywhere; with nothing to anchor me to being here. Now. I just don’t care anymore. I am apathetic about being passionate about anything.

Life is hard. I just want you to know that I know that. I guess I have a choice to make. Will I move or stay stuck? I’ll probably move but I’ll be pissed off about it at first. And I’ll go kicking and screaming. Until I won’t. Until I’ll be glad that I got up. Pulled out the fire hose, turned it on full throttle and blasted all the mud and grime off of myself. Because, that’s what we do. We choose to move.

I’m sitting on the couch in my bathrobe … I never wear a bathrobe. I hate bathrobes. I’m watching the Valentine’s Day balloons Rob bought me tangle on each other as the heat blows. Twisting and turning them. I find them depressing. I’m getting up. I may not move but I’ll make a cup of coffee. And I’m going to pop those stupid balloons getting stuck on themselves. It’s a start.

Sending love to you all. Take care.

12 replies »

  1. Maybe sometimes we need to wallow. And there is something about retreating to hide within yourself that feels so safe, and it is such a difficult place to leave. My therapist once told me I didn’t need to so drugs, because hiding away in my head is sort of like a drug. And she’s right: the longer I stay there, the more addictive it is.

    I think we move and live life, even though it is hard, so hard, because that is being human. I really do believe that we all are working towards a place of health, and that we all have an innate need to connect with others. So, you’ll move when you are ready, and be mad about it— I would be!– and start to live life again, and things will feel better. But maybe right now you need to wallow and feel these feelings. And I think that is okay sometimes. You spend a lot of time being very positive– your posts are always uplifting– but it’s hard to always maintain that. Maybe wallowing is a break. I don’t know know. But I do think it’s okay.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I love your thoughts here. I find them helpful and I appreciate you’re saying “And I think that’s okay sometimes.” It’s honoring where I’m at and also reminding me that I won’t be here forever. Helps! I’m reluctantly moving again and you made me smile when you said you’d be mad about it too! Thanks for that! 😉 XO

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  2. Jess, Sorry to hear you’re not feeling well. You and I run in similar cycles as I just came out of the set of symptoms you described (cough, flu, yucky feeling) . I curled myself up in the fetal position, went deep under the covers and locked all systems down. It took me a few weeks to get back on track and be good with the world again. Winter is a perfect time for this to happen…all of nature rests and takes a brake to heal and regenerate…. Even forces of nature like you need a break. It makes those normal times feel so much better… feel better soon…Don

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    • Thanks for this, Don. The reminder that it’s okay to tuck in for a bit and spring will find it’s way to me soon enough. I’m sorry you weren’t well too. It’s hard to not be able to do what I want to do and to just surrender to it. Now that I’ve surrendered, it’s almost easier to stay dormant. But I’m moving. Reluctantly. Begrudgingly. But I know I have to. XO

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  3. No one likes being sick, but for someone as active as you it must bring a special kind of torture. And when inactive it may be easier to think about the family one wished they had, because during the hard times and illnesses it is family and the closest we are with that we feel we can turn to. The pain of illness is that much worse when one cannot turn to those most usually can rely on.
    Go easy on that restless spirit, your body will match your need to move soon.

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  4. I LOVE this post. I don’t love that you feel this way and being sick always strips me bare and makes me feel so vulnerable. So I feel that and the it will just be hard again feeling too. Thanks for just saying it. I can pom pom for you and say and it will also be wonderful and you’ll know yourself more deeply and there’s a reason for everything and blah blah blah though I mean it all, but also, thanks for the simple reminder that honestly, more than poms poms is my spinach and I forget that too often. Agh… thank you. And I hope you feel physically well soon. Cissy

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