I’ve been having these days when I wake up and feel tired. I sit on the couch a lot. I have a running dialogue in my mind of the things I want to be doing, but I continue to sit, immobile.
My body feels fine. I have physical energy if summoned. But my mental capacity is stalled, somehow. I feel stuck.
Those days make me irritable and nervous. What if this is IT? What if laziness has set in? What if these are my true colors, what if I never feel motivated again? What if I keep snacking like this and it turns back into bingeing?
Then I remember that the What-If game is a most terrible fucking game, and I stop playing.
I try to ride the wave, convincing myself that it is, in fact, a wave, and not a wide ocean.
And usually, the following day is just fine.
And the feelings move like that, in and out, like waves.
I remember that there is a lot of stress happening in the world right now, both on a large scale and more low-level, out in hospitals and within the walls of our homes. There is existential fear and the burden of 24/7 caregiving, fear of a global virus and fear of our kids needing yet another thing, of pouring from an empty cup.
It makes perfect sense why our bodies would need to rest while we assimilate this. And even though it doesn’t feel great, I trust my body knows exactly what it’s doing. It always has.
We wouldn’t be who we are today without our bad days. None of which lasted forever, by the way.
Without the bad days, we wouldn’t understand the great ones.