Bridging

I feel simultaneously hyper alive and hyper tired lately which is a strange juxtaposition. The marrow in my bones is tired. Don’t ask me how I know that. I just do.

The hoard offloading I recently went through wrung me out like freshly laundered sheets put through an old-fashioned wringer washer. Where I came from, they would say about someone if s/he looked particularly rough that he looks like s/he has been “drug through a knothole.”

Reasonable reference emergent from a logging based economy where knotholes were as plentiful as the pine forests that produced them.

Feeling hyper-alive might just as easily be described as a kind of hyper-sensitivity. Coffee smells stronger which is nice. So does the cat’s litter box. Not so nice. It is as if my senses fear being dulled by my exhaustion so they rev up their attention to little things to remind me I am fully alive.

Unseasonably chilly temperatures this morning forced me to put on my trusty old sheepskin slippers. I found my flannel nightgown to wrap myself in and curled up on the couch.

I am feeling a deep need for comfort. Usually on my forbidden list, I bought a half dozen apple cider donuts this morning. Frozen macaroni and cheese sits in the freezer ready to break out when bidden. I just know macaroni mastication will be the perfect remedy to my tired, slightly depressed demeanor later on today.

I view the “meh” state I am in as much a part of the rhythms of life as the highest highs and the lowest lows we experience. Everyday life, in the main, we spend somewhere in the middle of those two extremes.

We seem to be almost subconsciously called to rest by our minds and bodies when we have heavy labors ahead of or behind us. In a tender memory, I remember the kindness and comfort of the labor room delivery nurses who wrapped me in warmed up flannel sheets after my son was born.

I had read that in India, both the mother and baby are regularly massaged in the baby’s first few months to pamper and comfort them. There must be considerable healing in loving touch as a new mother adapts to her demanding new role.

Recently I bought a towel warmer. I want to replicate that delicious warm flannel feeling after my son’s birth when we step out of the shower.

There was a time in my life when luxury seemed shameless indulgence. Now it is just part of my regular self-care menu I weave into my life when and where needed. Facials, massage, reflexology, herbal teas all seemed senseless extravagances to me once. Now they are mandatory parts of taking care of myself. .

We learn to take care of ourselves I’ve learned. It is not automatic. I didn’t see a lot of healthy self-care modeling growing up. Mom took hot baths and I mean hot. She would emerge from the tub with bright red legs and half her torso. For many years, I thought this was the preferred and only way to take a bath. Until I unlearned.

Dad managed his stress with booze and eventually, following his example, so did I. It wasn’t very effective. The state of drunkenness followed by the hours of hangover was hardly a relaxing stress relief strategy. The only relief was in recovering from the binge and the hangover that followed.

So I am heading for the fridge. Going to get me a tall, cold glass of milk and one of those apple cider donuts – warmed ever so slightly in the microwave. Maybe I’ll put a scoop of French vanilla ice cream on top.

Today is not one of my stellar days to be sure. But it is a day with its own learnings and lessons just as other days. Practicing self-care being one of them.

I am about to happily take the edge off unapologetically with a little treat. While my body and spirit are feeling the effects of demanding recent events, I am grateful for an easy, short-term solution to take the edge off.

I’ll get myself back on the apple cider donut wagon when I feel better.