There's almost never a moment I'm pain free. And I feel terrible even saying that because the pain I'm in is nothing compared to what people around me are going through.
But it makes it hard getting through the day.
I had a dream last night that I was trying to get up into firefly (a super challenging yoga arm balance) which I can sort of kind of do for a second or two and in my dream I would have been flying only pain was shooting through my hand. I woke up wondering if I had actually tried the pose in my sleep my palm was throbbing so tenderly.
I figured something out, lying there one of the many times I woke up last night, my head throbbing, my back aching, my arm immobilized, my knee frozen, unable to find a sliver of space that I was comfortable in, that perhaps I'm not healing as my subconscious way of dealing with all that I have to deal with.
One of the worst parts of all this is my way of dealing is yoga and I can't do it anymore. I keep trying. I keep injuring myself. I pulled something in my shoulder blade last week because of all the extra weight I was putting on my right side because my left hand can't handle pressure.
Anxiety is coming back. Slowly creeping in. I'm getting nervous in elevators. I don't want to go anywhere, be social, put myself out into the world. I'm barely getting through every day doing the barest of essentials.
I want to curl up in a ball, find a relatively pain free position, and stare off into space for awhile.
But, instead, I have to deal with 2 kids who have too much homework to do. An apartment that needs some serious straightening. Tons of PTA paperwork I took on when I shouldn't have. Halloween costumes to figure out. Breakfasts to make. I have to find a writer's notebook, stamps, envelopes, all for other people, nothing for me.
My head is still pounding.
My shoulder is still aching.
My knee is getting worse every day.
I want today to be over and it hasn't even started yet.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Friday, October 15, 2010
ranking struggle
Right now, people near and dear to me are struggling with very different issues.
One's got a physical body that's failing.
Another's got psychological challenges that aren't under control yet.
A third is in complete financial crisis, with basically no way out of all the debt.
I can't help any of them, not really, no matter how much I want to.
When things are that intense, at that level, my chatter and ability to distract doesn't really help. I have no solutions. I have no answers. I can't guarantee that things will get better. I can believe with all my heart they will but in the scheme of things, that isn't anything but me trying to find a way to cope with it all.
And so, all I can do is be here. To listen. To love. To hope.
One's got a physical body that's failing.
Another's got psychological challenges that aren't under control yet.
A third is in complete financial crisis, with basically no way out of all the debt.
I can't help any of them, not really, no matter how much I want to.
When things are that intense, at that level, my chatter and ability to distract doesn't really help. I have no solutions. I have no answers. I can't guarantee that things will get better. I can believe with all my heart they will but in the scheme of things, that isn't anything but me trying to find a way to cope with it all.
And so, all I can do is be here. To listen. To love. To hope.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
body fail
When I was in high school I inherited my mom's old Plymouth Valiant. A 1972 olive car I dubbed The Green Machine. It was a well-constructed steel tank that could withstand just about everything.
Until it died. Or at least stopped starting.
I sat in my driveway, turning the key, listing that that awful grinding noise, waiting for the engine to catch but it didn't.
Turns out I was supposed to have the oil checked on a regular basis and have it refilled when it was running low.
I didn't know.
My poor car was literally running on empty until its last gasp.
Bodies are like that too. Unless we maintain them, Care for them, take care of them, eventually something will go wrong
Yes, I know that even when you take fantastic care of yourself it's no guarantee, but giving your body all the support you can, can only help.
Or so I'd like to believe.
My brother's body is failing right now. It can't be fixed. It'll never be better. At best it'll get to a manageable place where there aren't ER visits and infections and dizziness and a host of other unexpected problems.
It's scaring the shit out of me.
There are no absolutes. No guarantees. No assurances that you'll avoid pain and suffering and illness along with basic wear and tear.
But you can take responsibility as much as possible.
Maybe that's sort of pie in the sky.
But it's helping me get through my day to day.
Until it died. Or at least stopped starting.
I sat in my driveway, turning the key, listing that that awful grinding noise, waiting for the engine to catch but it didn't.
Turns out I was supposed to have the oil checked on a regular basis and have it refilled when it was running low.
I didn't know.
My poor car was literally running on empty until its last gasp.
Bodies are like that too. Unless we maintain them, Care for them, take care of them, eventually something will go wrong
Yes, I know that even when you take fantastic care of yourself it's no guarantee, but giving your body all the support you can, can only help.
Or so I'd like to believe.
My brother's body is failing right now. It can't be fixed. It'll never be better. At best it'll get to a manageable place where there aren't ER visits and infections and dizziness and a host of other unexpected problems.
It's scaring the shit out of me.
There are no absolutes. No guarantees. No assurances that you'll avoid pain and suffering and illness along with basic wear and tear.
But you can take responsibility as much as possible.
Maybe that's sort of pie in the sky.
But it's helping me get through my day to day.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Outerwear
It's fall. The air is cool and crisp. The light has a sharp edge. Deep breaths both chill and tickle going down.
And I don't know what to wear.
I stand, stumped, in front of my overpacked closet, overwhelmed by options.
There is such a thing as too many choices.
I tend to find a favorite each season - my go to coat and scarf combo that always works.
Last year's isn't working anymore. The 1970s faux suede, whip stitched, chunky half-belt with brass buttons. I lived in this jacket last spring. But today it didn't feel right.
I paired it with this möbius loop scarf I knit in shades of pinks and browns with some oranges thrown in. I'm not sure I really like the look - the scarf itself is lovely but it all doesn't feel like it's working together.
Maybe it's me. Maybe I'm different. Maybe I'm trying to fit into who I was not who I am.
Whew. That's something to think about.
And I don't know what to wear.
I stand, stumped, in front of my overpacked closet, overwhelmed by options.
There is such a thing as too many choices.
I tend to find a favorite each season - my go to coat and scarf combo that always works.
Last year's isn't working anymore. The 1970s faux suede, whip stitched, chunky half-belt with brass buttons. I lived in this jacket last spring. But today it didn't feel right.
I paired it with this möbius loop scarf I knit in shades of pinks and browns with some oranges thrown in. I'm not sure I really like the look - the scarf itself is lovely but it all doesn't feel like it's working together.
Maybe it's me. Maybe I'm different. Maybe I'm trying to fit into who I was not who I am.
Whew. That's something to think about.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
empty
I don't have much to say today. The past week has pretty much wiped me out.
But . . .
I'm grateful to be alone.
I'm grateful there's not an emergency to deal with, phone calls to make, information to relay.
I'm grateful that it's cool and cloudy and I don't have anywhere I have to be.
I'm grateful my apartment is cozy and warm and relatively neat. That I did all the laundry yesterday. That there's enough food keep me out of the supermarket for a couple of days.
I'm grateful that I'm healing, slowly, but it's happening little by little, every day.
I'm grateful I didn't have a breakdown in the middle of everyone else's stress (although I did almost faint during my brother's crisis which he'll never let me forget).
I'm grateful to have the time and space to sit still. That's a luxury I'm seriously appreciating right now.
It's important to remember life is good even when chaos threatens to overtake you.
But . . .
I'm grateful to be alone.
I'm grateful there's not an emergency to deal with, phone calls to make, information to relay.
I'm grateful that it's cool and cloudy and I don't have anywhere I have to be.
I'm grateful my apartment is cozy and warm and relatively neat. That I did all the laundry yesterday. That there's enough food keep me out of the supermarket for a couple of days.
I'm grateful that I'm healing, slowly, but it's happening little by little, every day.
I'm grateful I didn't have a breakdown in the middle of everyone else's stress (although I did almost faint during my brother's crisis which he'll never let me forget).
I'm grateful to have the time and space to sit still. That's a luxury I'm seriously appreciating right now.
It's important to remember life is good even when chaos threatens to overtake you.
Monday, October 11, 2010
This is me complaining
I'm tired. Fucking tired.
Overwhelmed.
At wit's end.
Discombobulated.
Wiped out.
Unnerved.
My brother and sister are in different hospitals and there's not much I can do for either one. My own family is showing ever deepening cracks. They're scared too and perhaps my full disclosure stance is too much for everyone.
There are hurt feelings. People not talking. Crazy behavior. Miscommunication. As if the illnesses weren't enough.
I've taken on more than I can handle but I can't imagine handling it any differently.
Having said all that, it's a beautiful day. I'm taking a break from it all and stopped off for a pedicure. Sitting still with someone draping hot towels across my sore legs is delightful. My kids are upstairs, exploring a new game together. My nose is starting to heal from the piercing. And GLEE is on tomorrow.
Sent from my iPhone
www.elissastein.com
Overwhelmed.
At wit's end.
Discombobulated.
Wiped out.
Unnerved.
My brother and sister are in different hospitals and there's not much I can do for either one. My own family is showing ever deepening cracks. They're scared too and perhaps my full disclosure stance is too much for everyone.
There are hurt feelings. People not talking. Crazy behavior. Miscommunication. As if the illnesses weren't enough.
I've taken on more than I can handle but I can't imagine handling it any differently.
Having said all that, it's a beautiful day. I'm taking a break from it all and stopped off for a pedicure. Sitting still with someone draping hot towels across my sore legs is delightful. My kids are upstairs, exploring a new game together. My nose is starting to heal from the piercing. And GLEE is on tomorrow.
Sent from my iPhone
www.elissastein.com
Sunday, October 10, 2010
reality list
The other day I wrote out my whine list - an effective technique I use to get all my complaining out in one sweeping gesture.
It helped.
Today I'm trying something along the same lines although I'm not whining. I'm stating. It's a reality list and I hope by getting it out instead of holding it in, somehow I'll feel not quite so overwhelmed and helpless and lost.
I am the oldest of 3. At the moment my 2 siblings are in 2 different hospitals on opposite ends of Manhattan for 2 completely different kinds of things. Neither situation is curable. Both are manageable and at the moment teams of people are working around the clock trying to figure out how to best manage. There are bright moments and times it all feels bleak. For a person who desperately needs to make people feel better and fix whatever possible, there's just about nothing I can do for either one.
Other people in my family aren't handling this well at all and I could expect nothing less to be perfectly honest. But, sadly, I can't take on that too. I'm learning there's a limit to how much drama and disaster I can handle at any given moment. I've had to shut it off at times, to maintain my sanity.
My kids are having a hard time with me being so distracted. I don't blame them in the least. This is scary for them too and I'm often not entirely present, or even here, to help.
My body itself is a mess. My MRI for today got cancelled last night as my doctor's office neglected to send in a referral. I can't lift my right arm. My left leg is still bruised and swollen. My left palm can't support any weight. Such small things compared to what I'm watching others go through, but it makes getting through the day all the more difficult.
My apartment is bordering on disaster. I have more laundry to do than I can possibly carry. And I volunteered to take on my sister's apartment as well. I feel like if I had a trained team of 10 I might be able to pull it off. But, it's just me and I need to whip things into shape by the time she gets home.
There's still the puppy, the PTA, the 4 projects I'm supposed to be working on. The day to day homework, cooking, kid juggle. Science projects. Family history paper. Halloween costumes (which are never taken lightly in my house).
But last night, as I struggled through a yoga class, the teacher said something that resonated deeply. There's nothing you can do but be. Ride it out. Let it crash over you or carry you to the tops of powerful waves. You can't control things. You can't change them. But you can breathe through them and know it won't stay this was forever.
When I was in labor with Jack—no drugs whatsoever—my mantra was "it's only temporary." I'm holding on to that today.
It helped.
Today I'm trying something along the same lines although I'm not whining. I'm stating. It's a reality list and I hope by getting it out instead of holding it in, somehow I'll feel not quite so overwhelmed and helpless and lost.
I am the oldest of 3. At the moment my 2 siblings are in 2 different hospitals on opposite ends of Manhattan for 2 completely different kinds of things. Neither situation is curable. Both are manageable and at the moment teams of people are working around the clock trying to figure out how to best manage. There are bright moments and times it all feels bleak. For a person who desperately needs to make people feel better and fix whatever possible, there's just about nothing I can do for either one.
Other people in my family aren't handling this well at all and I could expect nothing less to be perfectly honest. But, sadly, I can't take on that too. I'm learning there's a limit to how much drama and disaster I can handle at any given moment. I've had to shut it off at times, to maintain my sanity.
My kids are having a hard time with me being so distracted. I don't blame them in the least. This is scary for them too and I'm often not entirely present, or even here, to help.
My body itself is a mess. My MRI for today got cancelled last night as my doctor's office neglected to send in a referral. I can't lift my right arm. My left leg is still bruised and swollen. My left palm can't support any weight. Such small things compared to what I'm watching others go through, but it makes getting through the day all the more difficult.
My apartment is bordering on disaster. I have more laundry to do than I can possibly carry. And I volunteered to take on my sister's apartment as well. I feel like if I had a trained team of 10 I might be able to pull it off. But, it's just me and I need to whip things into shape by the time she gets home.
There's still the puppy, the PTA, the 4 projects I'm supposed to be working on. The day to day homework, cooking, kid juggle. Science projects. Family history paper. Halloween costumes (which are never taken lightly in my house).
But last night, as I struggled through a yoga class, the teacher said something that resonated deeply. There's nothing you can do but be. Ride it out. Let it crash over you or carry you to the tops of powerful waves. You can't control things. You can't change them. But you can breathe through them and know it won't stay this was forever.
When I was in labor with Jack—no drugs whatsoever—my mantra was "it's only temporary." I'm holding on to that today.
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