What nerve I’ve got, almost two days late responding to my own prompt!
But you know what? It’s like that meme that’s going around. We’ve been at this “stay at home” thing for so long, there’s nothing to talk about. Nothing new, anyway. So I sit here at my computer, waffling over what to write. I actually get nervous. (There’s those nerves again.) And then I wonder, what’s the point?
Just Jot it January was easy for me, because all I had to do was make stuff up. Fiction is so much more interesting than real life these days, isn’t it? In fiction, we can pretend sickness doesn’t exist.
Maybe I should make up a fictional life for myself. Then I could live vicariously through the fictional me. I’ve even got a picture of the fictional me in mind. Aren’t I cute?
Photo: A snowman made out of a pointy snowbank with a single ball of snow on top with two eyes, a nose, and a mouth, and two twigs for arms sticking out of the snowbank.
Yeah, looks like the fictional me has about as much of a life as the real me.
Sorry I’m late with my SoCS post. Almost a SoCM post now.
Okay, so what’s the opposite of above and beyond? Below and back? Below and insufficient? Doesn’t have much of a ring to it.
My expectations for myself, for the future, are often on the side of above and beyond. Which leaves me in a state of feeling inadequate and causes me stress. Which sucks.
Yet, those expectations are often what pull me through and help me succeed. I’m one of those types who waits until the last minute to do what I need to do in order to hit a deadline. Most of the time. I’m much better when I’m editing for a client. My self-control is far better.
So what’s that about? Basically, when you boil it down, it comes down to my caring about other people more than myself. The old, “It’s just for me, so it can wait” thing.
Turns out self-care is difficult.
Can you relate?
Oh, and happy Valentine’s Day to all you lovers out there. For the rest of us? Let’s love ourselves a little bit more today. ❤
I thought it would be better by now, but it’s just getting worse. My son, Alex, as most of you know, is Deaf, and he hates masks. Anyone dressed in a costume is an extreme cause of stress for him, from the Easter Bunny, to Santa, to his school mascot. I believe it’s mostly because he can’t see their facial expressions, and thus can’t determine whether or not they are friendly or threatening. Whatever it is, Hallowe’en is the worst time of year.
This morning, getting him to go to school to spend the day with his friends was difficult, to say the least. He doesn’t seem to understand that the people he knows are inside the costumes. He’s sixteen years old physically, but at a mental age of six or seven. It’s not likely to get any better from here.
My concern is that I’m perpetuating the problem. Today I drove him to school so I could be there to reassure him everything was okay. He was nervous (he’s been having anxiety attacks every night before bed for the past week) even though he was able to explain to me himself that masks and scary costumes were not permitted at school. So okay, he needs support. I think there’s a fine line between coddling him and reassuring him when his fears are legitimate. But should I be the one supporting him at this point in his life?
I’m not going to be around forever. As he becomes an adult, there will be a time when he can no longer run to Mommy when there’s a problem. I believe he needs to start, at some point, (soon?) to rely on society to feel safe.
Stress is something everyone feels, if not on occasion, then constantly. Though we’re all different, and there are certain things or combinations of things in our lives which cause it, it has approximately the same effect on us all.
It raises our blood pressure, causes in us either adrenaline or exhaustion, usually one on the heels of the other. It does wondrous things to our bodies – gives us headaches, makes our skin break out in rashes and can give us pain where we didn’t think it was possible to have it.
But. There’s always a but. Stress is invisible. It can’t be counted; it can only be felt. It can only be seen by the ripping out of one’s hair and the stomping about of one’s feet, or the squealing of one’s wheels on dry pavement. Explaining it is near impossible to someone who doesn’t understand how much we’re under.
There are scales for pain: you can see them hanging on hospital walls. But what if there was such a thing as a stress scale? How would it look?
On a scale from one to ten, for myself, one would show a picture of me banging my shin against the foot of my spare bed, that has been out to get me since I inherited said bed with the house I’m living in.
Three would be the bed plus dropping everything I touch in the space of fifteen minutes. I have days like that.
Five might be getting in the car and turning the key to a click instead of the firing of pistons when I have an appointment to get to.
Seven to eight is being interrupted ten minutes after I sit down to write, and I just have my head in whatever I’m trying to concentrate on… eight being the fifth time in as many minutes.
But ten? Ten is having my son tell me he’s tired and putting my ear to his chest to find that his heart is in arrhythmia, going 90 beats per minute for a few beats, and then down to 30 for a few and back again. Adds up to a decent 60bpm, but there’s still the question, do I take him to the hospital or not? I’m alone with two kids, neither of whom can be left alone. This is where my stress level was two nights ago.
And so I thought, maybe I should make up a scale for my family so they know when not to push my buttons. Because no one wants to get in the line of fire when I’m reaching five, let alone ten.
What do you think – not for me, but for yourself? Might a stress scale lessen the number of stress-induced conflicts in your home? Something to consider, I think.