Day 15

I get mad sometimes that a lot of my challenges happen inside my own head. Maybe it’s wanting more credit, more understanding, more obvious consideration?

But it’s also about me, and my own relationship to my problems. The call’s coming from inside the house: what am I going to do about it?

The literature suggests being more gentle with oneself, maybe engaging with your thoughts the way you’d talk to a dear friend. (A friend once taught me the strategy of going at it like you’re a creature in your own care: “Time to take myself for a walk,” “Time to feed myself,” and so on. I almost prefer that to the friend talk. It’s so brass tacks.)

I might do better to take my challenges more seriously. When they’re all up there (gestures at brain), it’s too easy to pretend as if I can think my way out of them. I can’t, or I would’ve already. My challenges are not like, say, my raging ragweed allergies, where there’s no mistaking what’s happening. You can’t miss the sneezing and the red, watery eyes, and the dripping nose.

And I can’t act like I’ll just will my way through the histamines.

I wouldn’t try to run on a sprained ankle, let alone train for a half-marathon, but I’m always trying to act like nothing’s up when I’m limping around on a sprained brainkle. That’s how it gets sometimes. Things hurt, and are achy, and need more time and space and tending than usual—and I have a hard time facing it. I’d rather limp around and see how much I can get away with before everything really falls apart. 

What if I didn’t? What if I got the ice and a stack of pillows, got that brainkle set up to get the inflammation down? What if I wrapped it up in the support it needed?

Who knows—maybe I’d get my feet back under me before I knew it.

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Writing prompt: Write about a break or sprain.

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