It’s well past the time I should be asleep. I always find it difficult to get back to a normal sleep schedule after I’ve been sick, and I was sleeping at least twelve hours a day during that cold, trying to get it to go away.
It’s usually around this time, where I realize how late it is and that I should have been asleep hours ago, that I start something “productive” in order to feel like the day wasn’t a total waste. It’s a ridiculous pattern, mostly because it keeps me sleep deprived, and partly because I shouldn’t consider a day a waste just because I haven’t made progress on this project or that one.
So I was fiddling with Scrivener, trying to tweak the layouts in one of those attempts at “productive” procrastination (rather than actually writing a blog post, which I’m now doing–yay!). And I came across something I’d written a few months ago (in February, actually). It went like this:
Today was an uphill battle. It turns out, when I decide “for real” to do something I don’t always have the follow-through.
I tried to come up with things to focus on, and every time I almost came up with a theme for today I ran up against this thought: “I don’t actually love myself. I’m not in a loving mood. Life is crappy and I don’t want to do anything.”
Of course, this journey is about falling BACK in love with myself. And there are bound to be hiccups here and there.
So I was in a crappy mood. So what? It happens. Sometimes it’s as silly as forgetting to take my thyroid hormones in the morning. Can you imagine that? Your level of irritability and patience directly coinciding with whether or not you remembered to groggily swallow a tiny little pill at 6 in the damn morning so that it would metabolize enough before you actually got out of bed and ate some damn breakfast…
And bodies are funny like that. Minds. Chemicals. This whole big mishmash of reactions and homeostasis that decide how you feel and what pathways you think along and all of it. Depression is a bitch. She’s a horrible, awful, clingy, needy, soul-sucking bitch. Who won’t leave you alone. Who shows up at the most inconvenient times. Who abuses you in such subtle, manipulative ways that you don’t always realize she’s there until it’s too late. Until you’re blaming yourself, because you must have done something wrong, you must deserve this punishment, you must be dirt.
And some days, even with the thyroid meds holding her mostly at bay, tendrils will sneak in. And it’s like a friend of mine says, “Your depression brain is a LIAR and an ASSHOLE.”
So today was more about surviving the day than taking action to fall back in love with myself. But self-compassion is THE MOST IMPORTANT THING on this journey, the way I see it. There’s no room for keeping score or placing blame when you love someone. And that includes loving yourself. So, I give myself permission to have bad days. I give myself permission to struggle, to fight or not to fight it at all, to allow myself time and patience and love, the same way I allow those things in all my loved ones.
It’s okay to have bad days.
So, I’m going to accept this little note to self, and use it as a reminder that my day isn’t “wasted” if I haven’t worked on projects. I read a good chunk of a new book today, and ran the dishwasher, and had a lovely strange nap complete with imaginative nightmares. That isn’t a “bad” day. Depression didn’t rear her ugly head. I took my meds, and am even on day two of my new vitamin D supplements, because my doctor is cool and I trust him and maybe I wouldn’t have gotten that cold if I wasn’t vitamin D deficient.
Tomorrow, I get to go see Jurassic World with friends. I might clean the house some. I might write. I might read. I might do nothing at all. And that’s okay.