Pandemics Happen and then Everything Goes to CBD Oil

In the beginning of the year, I was doing pretty great. I was exercising regularly, losing my Christmas weight gain, writing an essay that I knew would be published, and had some routine going. And then the Pandemic happened. I didn’t implode immediately but the decline of my “self” life was inevitable.

I’ve spent a lifetime giving upon myself. It’s what I grew up with. I’m kinda not worth the effort. I then revert to taking care of others mode. It’s a pattern especially in Summer time. It’s easier to focus on all the household tasks and family needs then try to muster up the structure, time, and separation that I need to take care of me. I give up. It smacks of effort.

The result of this year with the increased pandemic induced anxiety and lack of deeper self-care, is that I’m not feeling my best. I’m heavier than I’ve ever been, out of shape, and can’t seem to initiate any routines. I’ve thought about them but I’m just not worth the effort.

Even with CBD gummies and anti-depressants, there’s no quick cure for low self-esteem. That is an ingrained concept of self that is a lifetime battle. I feel like the self-system that shows my worth with organization and priorities for my time and efforts for myself is knitted with yarn. And it’s unraveling is destined. Because that’s what I’ve decided.

There’s no quick cure for this. Climbing out of this hole requires conscious effort. Support and witnessing. Intention and insight. These aren’t easily come by when you’ve spent a lifetime doing the opposite. And then I think of my daughter and what she needs to have modeled for her. And as much as I want to fall in a hole, that really isn’t an option.

I need to give her ways to show up for herself when she’s scared. I need to give her these with authority and knowing. I need to model what I didn’t have modeled for me. Because that’s part of what I am here to do. My destiny as it is, was handed to me when she was born. I can not stomach the idea of her giving up on herself.

And so I begin again within the constructs of what I am living. This morning as she sleeps, I write this confession. And know it means something.

And If you enjoyed what you read, subscribe, via the subscription box in the sidebar, to my thrice weekly posts via your emailbox. And visit me on Instagram to see my daily pictures, friend me or like my page on Facebook. Or come find me on Twitter or Pinterest too. I am always practicing Intentional Intouchness so chat at me please. I live for conversations.

And, as always, Thanks to you for your visit.

Calling the Shame to the Table

What is it about me and absolutes? I need to be all in or all out. If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right. SO many contingencies which completely permit me to opt out of stuff that I really “should” be doing.

Here’s some that have been rumbling around making me dizzy.

If you fail to plan, you plan to fail.

Do I find my true voice so that I can be a writer or

Do I write to find my true voice?

If I fail to start, I fail. If I start to fail, I started.

Our fear is very trixsy. It knows everything we know and can use our best and worst moments against us. For years, and I mean for years and years, I have made promises to myself to branch out and take chances with my writing. While I am completely comfortable with my nakedness here on my blog, I have not caught the updraft to sail into the larger world.

This is a great source of shame for me, as much as my weight gain from the pandemic lockdown. And shame is our worst captor. She works closely with Fear finding ways to make you comply and “stay safe”. I abhor that phrase. My safety makes me ashamed and that’s why I’m telling on myself. I want to release myself from this horrid prison.

I don’t know the right way to start.

I have nothing to say and have never done anything interesting.

I don’t need the hassle of the worry and the fret.

Nothing ventured, nothing lost.

Every day is a good day to start again.

Shame is a sh**show.

And accountability is everything.

I will give you my secret shame and you can hold onto it. I don’t want it anymore.

And I’ll do the same for you if you need me to.

And If you enjoyed what you read, subscribe, via the subscription box in the sidebar, to my thrice weekly posts via your emailbox. And visit me on Instagram to see my daily pictures, friend me or like my page on Facebook. Or come find me on Twitter or Pinterest too. I am always practicing Intentional Intouchness so chat at me please. I live for conversations.

And, as always, Thanks to you for your visit.

September Has Arrived

September has arrived. The crickets forewarned me. The temperature dropped a delightful 15 degrees Fahrenheit although the humidity has kept its nasty reign on out region. I look forward to these things.

To the schedule, rhythm, and routine of the school work week so I may advance with my own progress.

To the planning, implementing, and shutting down of the garden workload.

To bringing down the fuzzy rug and turning on the fireplace because it’s cold outside.

To wearing clothing that covers the back of my thighs.

To firepits in the backyard and saying adios to mosquitoes.

To the expansive feeling of Autumn’s cooler weather in my mind and my body.

To finding legitimate footing in my life’s work and moving onward.

My hope for you all is the very same freedoms if you so desire them. Or that you write out what yours are for the coming months. Let’s hope that despite all of this, 2021 blooms with new growth like we never expected.

And If you enjoyed what you read, subscribe, via the subscription box in the sidebar, to my thrice weekly posts via your emailbox. And visit me on Instagram to see my daily pictures, friend me or like my page on Facebook. Or come find me on Twitter or Pinterest too. I am always practicing Intentional Intouchness so chat at me please. I live for conversations.

And, as always, Thanks to you for your visit.