Tag: life

I Save My Rage for the Road

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

A remarkable thing happens when I get into my car.

It doesn’t matter what kind of day I’m having. I could be having a perfectly lovely day, in a glorious mood, everything going my way. And then I get behind the wheel and I turn into the Hulk. I am instantly filled with rage and impatience. So long as I am in that car, I am Queen Bitch. And then I get to my destination, hop out of the car, and my cheerful mood resumes.

Suffice it to say, I have some form of road rage.

Now I’m not one of those people that will purposely harass you on the road because of some perceived slight, nor am I the kind to hop out of my vehicle at a stop sign to attempt violence. But I will hex you and your bloodline past, present, and future into oblivion.

I do not know why I’m like this. Because I wasn’t always like this. I’ve done a lot of driving in my years since acquiring my license. I’ve done my time commuting for work and I used to take regular trips to the Chicago area, a two and a half/three hour drive depending on how you feel about speed limits. I’ve driven to Arkansas and Buffalo. There is a part of me that likes to drive sometimes. On one of my commutes, I found a stretch of meditation in the form of taking the back road to catch the highway. Just crank the radio, roll down the window, and go.

This didn’t mean that I wouldn’t get irritated with other drivers. Part of the reason I took the back roads was to avoid them. The best highway commutes were when the cars were few and far between. I was not above voicing vocal frustration at people acting like they learned to drive at the demolition derby. Or the people who found the speed limits too high and sought to slow down the entire flow of traffic.

I stopped those twenty-thirty minute commutes years ago. Since 2019, I’ve barely driven out of town. I pretty much only drive around town, to and from work, running errands. And it seems that with the shortened distances have come a shortened temper.

I have a short drive to get to the library. Honestly, I should walk, but I don’t want to get dressed for work any earlier than I have to. Also, I don’t want to go to work sweaty. Anyway, it is amazing how many swear words I can cram into such a short drive because everyone pisses me off. There are days, of course, in which I manage the drive without incident. But more often than not, someone doesn’t know how to work the square or someone can’t work a four way stop or someone can’t work the parking lot or someone decides to just walk out in front of my car.

Allow me to remind you that I live in a small town, not some busy metropolis, and my commute to work is all of five minutes.

The fact that my chill vacates the second the key hits the ignition bothers me more than the people I swear at while I drive (I admit that it’s a tiny-margin victory). I’m beginning to suspect that I haven’t mastered the art of calm in other areas of my life at all and instead, I’m just detouring it all to ride shotgun with me whenever I’m driving around town.

I’m carpooling with my stress.

Maybe I should get a bike.

It’s Only Love

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

The week of Valentine’s Day, when everything is draped in red, pink, and white, hearts and flowers and cupids plastered everywhere, romantic love is full on in the spotlight is the perfect time to point out that despite what society tells you, romantic love is not the pinnacle of the love hierarchy.

Actually, there is no love hierarchy. There are many different kinds of love and no one kind is better than another.

Society and the media would have you believe that romantic love is the end all when it comes to love, the tip top of the love pyramid. And it can be great, don’t get me wrong. I, myself, enjoy romantic love and would love to have more of it in my life. But I think it’s important to have all kinds of love in your life. No such thing as too much. As such, no one kind of love can be better than another. But most people have been conditioned to place romantic love on a pedestal anyway.

Familial love, platonic love, love for humanity…it all can have a place in people’s lives and it’s silly to think that one kind of love is somehow better than another. But even within those categories of love, we still try to create some kind of ranking system.

The love between a married couple is somehow greater than the love between an unmarried couple.

The love of a mother for her child is somehow the greatest love of all familial love, over any love a father can give to a child or siblings can have for each other. Grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins…they all fall a very distant second. Hell, a mother’s love is even considered superior to romantic love. Sorry, spouse.

Platonic love is probably one of the lowest ranked love categories because the love of friends is nice, but not as important as a family member or spouse. Even then, though, we have best friends and just friends.

I think the societal insistence of these love perceptions aggravate and antagonize issues that people can have when it comes to their relationships. Why do you think so many people would choose a bad relationship over no relationship at all? The messaging is that there’s something terribly wrong about being single, that being alone is something to avoid at all costs. Even if it means settling for someone you only marginally tolerate and being somewhat baseline unhappy all the time. At least you’re not alone, right? Yeah.

Or what about his idea of a mother’s love? Now, I’m not knocking the love a mother has for a child, but let’s face the reality that not all mothers’ love is created equal. There’s this weird idea that you have to forgive your mother for everything simply because she’s your mom and that it’s the child’s responsibility to heal all of those wounds. Compound this with the substandard mother’s love that some children end up receiving, and it’s no wonder people develop relationship issues. If a mother’s love sets the standard and the standard set is toxic…well…there’s not much of a happy ending here.

Likewise, the people who hold the love of blood relatives over friends. The found family trope resonates with people for a reason. Those folks stuck with toxic blood find a blessing in the relationships with the friends they choose, only to be told that this is somehow less than the less than family they have. It festers a guilt about attachments. About loving your friends more than your family. About loving your chosen family over your blood one.

Obviously, people can and do overcome these issues, but think of how much easier it would be if they didn’t start with these inaccurate concepts of weighted love values. If we treated all love as being equal, then that’s one less issue to reconcile when working on our relationship wounds.

And maybe we’d get to place where we could enjoy our relationships more.

After all, it’s only love.

I Wear Body Armor

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

I know I just wrote about using fashion to boost my serotonin, but did you know that I also dress for protection?

Allow me to explain.

A couple of weeks ago at the library I work at, I presented a program on 22 murders that occurred in my county. I’ve not done any public speaking of this kind since my third go round of community college in speech class, which was close to fifteen years ago now. I did well in the class, of course, because I’m one of those people who insists on excelling academically, but this program wasn’t for a grade. Speaking in front of twenty people, even about something I’m interested in and excited about (like murder) is daunting. Throw some anxiety in there and the entire week leading up to the program I was regretting my decision to do this. I felt like there was no way I was going to remember everything, that people were going to be bored, that it was going to be a dud of a program, and I was going to let down our program director, whom I adore.

Knowing that anxiety and doubt were going to plague me, I decided my best course of action would be to put on my body armor.

I meticulously picked out my outfit down to the socks, panties, jewelry, mask, and eye shadow colors to make me feel as fierce and badass as possible, while still meeting dress code. And it worked. I still had to deal with my anxiety and I still had some doubts until I started talking, but damn I felt good about my look.

I felt bulletproof.

(For the record, I wore a pink button down shirt, white criss-cross tanktop, boyfriend cut jeans, pink socks, my custom chaos Vans, pink mask, and black and pink jewelry.)

Like playing with my fashion to help boost my mood, sometimes I use it as armor, too. Armor against the world and armor against myself.

Facing a crappy day? Sometimes all I need is the sexiest pair of panties I own. It’s like wearing kevlar. My secret defense against the world.

Not in the mood to be fucked with at work? I have found that people do not argue with me if I wear excessive amounts of pink. No, I don’t know why, but it has yet to fail.

Needing a little extra insulation from my anxiety? That’s why I have an ungodly amount of novelty socks.

It’s something that I can do even on the days when I’m not going full fashion. Maybe I’m just having a meh day that calls for soft clothes, but I’ve got glittery slippers to cap off that legging and sweatshirt combo.

Like any armor, it has its weaknesses. It’s not foolproof. Some days, no amount of armor can protect me. Some days the world is too harsh. Or I’m too harsh. Sometimes, the anxiety finds the gaps in my kevlar. Sometimes, the world does.

And like any armor, I don’t always need it. I’m not constantly walking around in my stylish chain mail anticipating a lance. Sometimes it’s all in the name of serotonin, all just to have fun.

And sometimes, they’re just clothes, something I put on because I live in a society that has decency laws and/or I’m feeling a bit chilly.

That’s what’s so great about fashion.

It’s so versatile.

“That’s None of My Business”

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

Prince Harry released his memoir detailing his life and relationship with his family. The bits and pieces that leaked out were all the talk of my Twitter timeline and my anglophile roommate. Everybody had their opinions and assessments and evaluations and snarky comments and that’s terrific. But everything I’ve ever learned about the British Royal Family, particularly recently, has been against my will. I simply do not care about them or their family drama. Feel free to take your Jerry Springer shenanigans elsewhere because it is none of my business.

“Well, what about…”

There are plenty of people who care about this sort of thing. I do not need or wish to be one of them, thank you.

Keep calm and gossip on.

One bit of wisdom that has come to me with age is the gloriousness of minding my own business. I don’t have to care about everything. I don’t have to have an opinion about everything. Things that do not impact my existence directly are often best not considered. They do not concern me.

It’s none of my business.

Yes, I’m obviously not talking about important things. I wouldn’t mind my business if I saw someone being assaulted or thought one of my friends was being abused by their partner. But whether or not Prince Harry’s daddy loves him or if his wife is manipulating him for her own gain is none of my concern. That’s someone else’s responsibility.

That is none of my business.

I’ve taken to saying that to people when they try to talk to me about things that I don’t wish to engage with. And the response is interesting. It makes people stutter over their words because they’re not expecting that response. They’re not expecting someone not to engage with them, even politely, on the topic. They’re not expecting someone to say “That’s none of my business,” and then have to debate themselves on whether or not to defend themselves for making whatever it is their business.

For the record, that’s none of my business either. Whatever you choose to make your business is your concern, not mine. All I ask is that when I say it’s none of my business, you respect that.

I have found something very freeing in saying “That’s none of my business.” It’s like a dismissal of obligations. I don’t have to take on any weight associated with this. I don’t have to expend energy thinking about it or knowing about it. I don’t have to waste time talking about it or keeping up with it. It’s none of my business.

I realize that doesn’t sound like a lot. But think of all of the little things that are none of your business. Or my business. They add up. All that energy adds up. All those minutes add up. It’s time and energy better spent on something that actually is my business.

And I’ve got plenty of that.

Fashion in the Name of Serotonin

~ Kiki Writes ~ 1 Comment

It was during my birthday week when I was puzzling over what my birthday outfit would be (see pics; warning! I’m much fatter in person), I realized that lately I had been deriving a lot of my serotonin from having fun with my fashion choices.

I have gone through spells in which I’ve played with my style and fashion. In my late teens/early twenties, I tended toward punk/freak ensembles. In my late twenties, after losing forty pounds, I put a little more effort into my style, trying to look a little more fashionable and put together. In my mid-thirties, I did this again, though I experimented a little more, putting vintage vibes into my outfits.

And now here I am in my early forties doing it again.

When I’m not getting my fashion on, it’s usually because of mental illness and/or funds. I don’t have the money to invest in my wardrobe, nor do I have the energy to invest in myself. But let me rebound with some cash and some good brain chemicals, and I’m ready for a shopping spree and the runway.

This latest round started when I started working at the library. I needed work clothes. Old Navy to the rescue. I ended up investing in Pixie pants, of which I already had a few pairs, one of which no longer fit. I got the standard black, but I also ended up getting some patterns. I paired them with different colored t-shirts and a black cardigan. Boom! A uniform was born.

And so was my Old Navy Cash, which I’ve used to continue to invest in my wardrobe.

The pandemic convinced me that I needed to acquire more soft clothes. I had no lounge pants, no leggings, no sweatshirts. And so, I started to build my soft clothes wardrobe, which I wear before I get dressed to go to work. I see no sense in taking a shower in the morning and putting on my work clothes when I’m not going to the library until the afternoon, especially when I’d be eating lunch in the meantime. That’s an invitation to disaster.

In the last year, my library look has evolved away from the t-shirts and cardigans to long-sleeved t-shirts, sweaters, and button down shirts with tank tops underneath. We can also wear jeans to work now, so they’ve been included, but I still wear my Pixie pants most of the time. My collection now includes a variety of fun prints: mermaid (it’s a shiny, blue pattern; everyone calls them my mermaid pants), jungle, flower, dizzy, pinstripe, plaid, tan houndstooth, black and white houndstooth, black and white gingham, windowpane, and hot pink cheetah print. I also acquired quite the collection of slip on canvas shoes in fun prints (glitter! I have glitter shoes!) for some extra pizzazz.

When I got my tax refund this past year, I set aside some of it to buy whatever I wanted. This included a pair of Vans, something I’ve wanted since high school, but never had the money or could justify spending the money if I did have it, some clothes from Torrid (which began my Torrid cash and loyalty points), and some tights from Snag Tights.

You see, by this time, I’d been on TikTok for a bit and one of my favorite people there, Aunty Pinky, has a magnificent punk style that includes Vans, Snag Tights, and some really funky threads, much of which is thrifted. I dig it. But more than that, I wanted the freedom to have fun with my look the way she does hers.

So I bought the Vans, I bought the tights, I bought the threads, and I started to have fun. I started taking joy in putting together work outfits and that joy spread to putting together outfits for my days off, too.

Then I saw a video somewhere in which a woman said that you should dress the way you wanted to when you were a teenager, but didn’t because you didn’t have the money and/or couldn’t find clothes that fit. This further encouraged me to have a good time.

And that’s what I’ve been doing. I own more dresses now than I have in my life, but that’s only because I own more funky tights than I’ve ever owned in my life. My wardrobe has exploded to the extent that I’ve had to acquire space in another closet in the house. As of right now, I need to buy more hangers.

My style definitely has included more punk elements. I’ve been working some vintage vibes, too. And for the first time since the ’90s, I own a bodysuit -the strappy, lacy, sexy one that I wore unapologetically on my birthday. I’m putting a little more sexy in my style, too.

The fun thing about all of this is that I’m about fifteen pounds down from my highest weight and still ten to fifteen pounds heavier from the last time I had a real style run. I’m at an age and a weight when both nobody and everyone cares what I look like. So long as I’m dressing my age and blending in with the wallpaper because of my weight, nobody cares. But I start dressing “younger” and showing off my body, everybody cares.

Too bad for them that I don’t care.

I’m too busy having fun.

The Slow Down

~ Kiki Writes ~ 2 Comments

I live by my To Do Lists. I’ve got a project board hanging on my closet door. I’ve got multiple pages in my OneNote with all of my projects, writing, audio, library, and other. I cannot organize everything in my brain, so I organize it on the outside. It works very well for me because I’m able to see everything. Seeing it all laid out helps me keep everything straight.

However, sometimes seeing it all laid out like that with the deadlines and everything triggers my anxiety. It’s a very specific reaction, too.

Do All The Things Right Now.

The fun part about this anxiety and resulting response is that I don’t even need to have a lot of things on the To Do List to trigger it. The deadline doesn’t even have to be that dire. Sometimes, my anxiety decides to make it dire. It’s not ideal. Sure, in the past it’s forced a high-level of productivity because I would indeed try to do all the things right now, but the panic-flail nature of it would take a serious toll on my sanity.

In the past few years, I’ve made major strides with this particular anxiety issue with a simple bit of advice.

What do you need to do when you’re in a hurry? Slow down.

I’ve taken that approach when my anxiety tells me that I need to Do All The Things Right Now. I slow down. I lay out the schedule of what needs to get done and then I only do those things. Yes, I could probably do more, but I don’t let myself. If I do, then I’ll fall into the trap of doing all the things at the expense of myself. This doesn’t always make the itchy, dire feeling go away, but it will eventually. It might take a night’s sleep to feel better. But the point is that I’m able to get to that sleep because I’m not making myself do all of the things to try to make the itchy, dire feeling go away.

For example, Grinchmas almost always triggers the Do All The Things Right Now response. The combination of whatever projects I’m working on and the need to make and mail gifts and cards and to do all of my baking makes it nearly unavoidable. The only way I’ve found to cope and not feel like I’m failing is to schedule everything. Yes, I write down in my planner what day I’m baking sugar cookies and what day I’m mailing cards along with what project I’m working on that day and what I need to do during my library shift that day. To fight the urge to do all of the things right now, I have to show myself that all of the things will get done in time.

To get everything done, I have to slow down. One thing at a time until it’s all done. The slow progress guarantees I’ll get everything done without sacrificing my mental well-being to do it.

I”ll be honest. It’s been a game-changer for me.

Slow and steady really can win the race.

Turning 43

~ Kiki Writes ~ 1 Comment

Once again I have defied the known Gods and Universe by continuing to exist for another year (she says as she writes this blog post before her birthday so it will post on time, duly noting that she’s inviting said known Gods and Universe to kick the chair right out from under her). 43 is a funky age. It’s a funky number. Not entirely sure how I feel about it, yet, but I figure that if it’s funky, then I should be funky, too.

I’ve finally decided that I should probably do something with my life. I mean, if I’m going to continue to exist on this mortal plane, I might as well. Gotta do something to kill the boredom and keep shit interesting.

To that end I asked for and received The Remarkable Life Deck: A Ten-Year Plan for Achieving Your Dreams by Debbie Millman for Christmas. See, I know nothing about getting my life together or being a somewhat functioning adult or really even what I specifically want for my life. This is supposed to help me do that. Which is good. I need all the help I can get.

It’s basically a deck of cards that asks you questions about your life ten years from now. What does it look like, where do you live, what are your relationships like, what is your career like, etc. The idea is that you go through and answer each card as thoroughly and honestly as possible. Dream big and write those dreams down. By doing this, you actively put those answers and ideas in your brain pan, which encourages you to live and work towards them. I’ve been answering the questions since I got the deck at Christmas and I’ve found that for most part, it’s not much trouble. I live 90% of my life in my head anyway.

What is a little surprising is how totally unhindered I am about writing all of it down. I am completely undeterred by the prospect that this might not work. Maybe it’s because I know me and know my potential for failure. Maybe I’m not actually too invested with the outcome, but more the process. Who knows? I’m having fun with this. No harm in that.

I have to admit that things are weird for me lately. I’m going into this new age much more upbeat and much lighter than usual. Dare I say I’m optimistic? For what, I don’t know. Maybe I left my last fuck in 2022 and now completely unburdened, I’m able to skip through life rather than trudge. Will that last? Will I biff it and fall? Will my mental illnesses tidal wave me when I least expect it? I don’t know. But I’m not going to worry about it in the meantime. I’m just going to enjoy this feeling as long as it lasts.

Like I said, 43 feels like a funky number and a funky age.

I’m looking forward to getting funky.

I’m Starting the New Year the Same Way I Ended the Old One–Softly

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

I think it was my cousin Alex who posted a meme in her Instagram stories about why we go on about ending the year strong when we should be ending the year softly -resting, recuperating, relaxing. I’m paraphrasing it badly, but it still spoke to my soul.

When I saw this I was in the homestretch of a brutal marathon of projects. I was doing Book ’em, Danno, Here, Watch This with Shann, and covering three shows on Eventually Supertrain with Dan. I also had Five Minutes to do for Patreon. I was finishing up the prep for my program that I’ll be giving later this month at work. I was also working on a couple of library podcast episodes so I could have the comp time to cover my traditional birthday week vacation. And then there was NaNo, the page-a-day, the Sunday story, and blogging. Full disclosure: I did this to myself and I regret none of it. I could have said “no” to most of these things, but I chose to say “yes” and I’m glad I did. It’s just that I once again overestimated myself and as a result their were consequences.

I burned myself out. Oops.

By the time I saw this random message, I was more than ready to embrace it.

I decided to end 2022 as softly as I could.

Deadlines and schedules being what they were, there was only so much I could control. I made the executive decision not to do any blog posts for the month of December. That gave me a little less stress and a little more time to do other things. I also finished as much of my audio work as I could before December. Another thing that freed up some time and lowered the stress levels.

After that, it was all about scheduling, balancing work with rest, which to be honest, is something I suck at and should be doing anyway.

For my part, I think I did well. Even with the Grinchmas shopping, crafting, shipping, and baking, I did not end the year feeling frazzled, completely bereft of energy, patience, and will to live. I ended the year somewhat softly and it made a huge difference in how I entered 2023.

I chose to enter the new year softly as well.

I tend to ease into January anyway. After all, I’m usually exhausted and dragging myself into a new calendar. This year I’m purposely going in softly. I am continuing my practice of being mindful about my schedule. I’m taking it easy, but being productive. What are my deadlines? What is my schedule? What can I control? Where can I be soft?

After doing so much audio last year, I plan to scale back this year. I still have projects with deadlines that will get done, but it’s a matter of not letting my schedule become so overwhelmed with it. I need to pace myself better and this means saying “no” or “not right now” sometimes, even if it’s something I really want to do. I need to let myself be booked sometimes.

It was in the latter portion of 2022 that I realized how much I miss writing. After years of creativity and productivity issues, I hit a sweet spot last year that I haven’t experienced in a long time and my schedule was so crowded that I felt like I had no time to indulge in it.

This month, my birthday vacation is also going to be a writing vacation. No library work and no audio projects. Just me and writing words. No deadlines or productivity goals. Just me writing.

And if it goes the way I think it will go, that is to say well, then I play to making writing vacations a thing for the year. Find those weeks were I can just write without expectation or interruption.

I’m hoping that ending the old year and beginning the new year softly will teach me something about how I approach my scheduling and my projects and maybe help me figure out a better work/rest balance.

Let this not be one of the times I insist on learning the hard way.

The Universe Gave Me a Sign To Cut My Own Hair and Other Questionable Ways I Make Decisions

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

The last time I was scheduled to have a hair appointment, my stylist had an emergency. She works out of her home, so it wasn’t like another stylist could step in and help me out. I decided to wait to see what was going on and then see about rescheduling.

Only I never rescheduled.

I decided that this was a sign from the Universe to shave my head.

Okay, not exactly. But pretty close.

Here’s the thing. The abruptness of this hair appointment cancellation unfortunately played right into an annoying, elevated period of anxiety. So while I was battling the brain gremlins about whether or not my stylist would even want me to reschedule, another part of me -the goblin part- told me that this was a sign from the Universe to take matters into my own hands.

Given my indecision about rescheduling, it was only natural that I would start watching YouTube videos about cutting my own hair. Most of them were too complicated and required me to buy razors and sheers and that’s more commitment than I’m willing to do. But one only required clippers and scissors, both of which I have. And I found the style to be quite fetching. It’s got a punk vibe to it and I’ve been craving that lately.

Well, obviously, this was meant to be. Because if my stylist hadn’t cancelled, then I wouldn’t be in a dither about rescheduling, and my hair wouldn’t be driving me crazy to the point that I’m so seriously considering cutting my own hair that I’m looking at how-to videos on how to do it.

So, on a Saturday after work, I shaved my head, leaving the top long. It took a couple of days for me to convince my hair to do the thing, but it’s worked out well so far.

Thank you, Universe.

Okay, do I really believe in signs from the Universe? Yeah, sometimes. I don’t necessarily believe in God, but I do believe in the Universe, and the Universe has a sense of humor. And I do believe the Universe loves us and knows that we’re dumbasses and tries to help us out on occasion.

I’ll take all the help I can get.

To be honest, the fear of failure that has been instilled in me from a young age has resulted in me being afraid to choose wrong. That bit of unknown causes me to balk. It freezes me sometimes and makes it difficult for me to make a damn decision. In those instances, I need some help.

That’s where the Universe comes in.

Or tarot cards.

I know what you’re thinking. Tarot cards can’t tell the future. Good news! I’m not asking them to. I’m asking them to give me some clarity on whatever situation is causing me difficultly. Interpreting the cards with that focus in mind helps shake my brain loose from whatever has it stuck. Because most of the time, I know the decision I have to make. This is a roundabout way to arrive at the destination, but I get there nonetheless.

It’s not quite flipping a coin, but I rarely have a coin on me, so.

There are times when I’m a very decisive person. When there’s no doubt in my head about the choice I should make.

And then there are times when I look for a sign from the Universe and I get it in a certain song that’s on the radio when I start the car.

And then I shave my head.

You’d be surprised how often it works out for me.

I Should Take My Own Advice–But I’ll Do No Such Thing

~ Kiki Writes ~ 1 Comment

I’ve been working very hard to reform my exercise habits. I finally got myself into the rhythm of doing two short workouts a day: a harder one in the morning and then a kinder one after after work. Doing this five days a week, that’s ten workouts. I’d been able to keep this up for a good six weeks before I hit a real wall.

I’d been feeling run down for several days. Maybe it was the last gasp summer weather change (we went from the 70’s to the 90’s down to the 60’s in a span of a week); maybe it was the PMS fatigue that has been known to whip my ass on occasion; maybe it was the fact that I’d been busting my ass on multiple projects and it finally caught up with me. Whatever the cause, my ass was dragging and if you know me at all, you know the size of my ass is considerable, which means the drag was, too.

I got up on that Wednesday morning feeling like I hadn’t slept even though my sleep had been decent. In that moment of meh weakness, I decided that I was going to take at the very least the morning workout off. My body was aching for rest and I decided to listen to it for once.

Cue the guilt and self-loathing.

I grew up with parents who despised laziness. The only thing on par with being lazy was being selfish or possibly murder (but I think laziness and selfishness would have beat murder out simply because I had DONE something instead of watch TV and not share with my sister). So I grew up to believe that any kind of rest I gave myself was laziness and that simply isn’t allowed. Please understand that this does not apply to anyone else –only me. Other people are allowed to listen to their bodies and give themselves the rest they require. I’ll even give them that very advice.

But I loathe to take it for myself.

I have a whole day during the week which I have designated for “self-care” and that is Sunday. I do as little as possible on Sundays. I schedule no work, put no expectations on myself, don’t even get dressed. Sundays (unless absolutely unavoidable) I’m just allowed to exist.

It took me years to get to that point. I spent years convincing myself it was okay to take one day a week off. And I admit that it’s done wonders for my existence.

But the work on deprogramming myself continues.

Is it lazy for me to take a day off of physical activity when my body demands it? Even with my Sunday off? Will one day off to honor myself totally ruin my exercise habit that I’ve worked so hard to re-establish? Will I immediately gain 100 pounds by not exercising on one day that I’m supposed to?

The answer to all of these things is obviously no. And logically I know that.

Illogically, I’m trying to tell myself that I can salvage it if I do two workouts after work (I’ve done that before), no matter how tired I am.

Imagine my surprise when I don’t. When I come home from work and choose to rest. Which is what I did on that particular occasion.

Imagine my even bigger surprise when I didn’t try to make up the workouts later in the week. I just…missed those workouts. And nothing of consequence happened. I let my body rest and ended up feeling better as a result and didn’t punish myself.

Maybe I should take my own advice a little more often.