Much of my life has been spent in fighting external controls, whether it involved a toxic family of origin, or later, toxic relationships that I chose because I didn’t know/understand what occurred in my childhood. When you don’t know who is controlling you or why, fighting it results in a lot of exhausting struggle. Been there, most of my life.
What I’m learning (finally) is that this built-in capacity and drive to struggle sometimes doesn’t serve me very well. I am at that point today, right now.
I’ve struggled emotionally since mid-February, trying to come to terms with my sister Charlotte’s sudden death, and the fact that my sister in law began hospice care the day after Charlotte died. She is still with us, every day is precious, but I steel myself every time the phone rings.
I’ve struggled intellectually for six months about what I really want to do with the rest of my life. (I guess it’s about time, right?) I keep adding to my “to do” list, which just adds new/more variables to the struggle.
Since last April, I’ve struggled physically, subjecting myself to more doctor appointments and tests than I’d allowed in the past 10 years, jumping through every required hoop to qualify for a more advanced weight loss surgery known as the duodenal switch. I met all requirements and had all clearances last November, but was lied to by the surgical practice in Boston. Instead of setting their promised December surgery date, they rescinded their offer of the duodenal switch entirely. And without any medical cause. I don’t believe they ever intended to do it. So I renewed my quest in January, traveling to New York to see a world-class surgeon for this procedure. He said I am “the perfect candidate”. Unfortunately, our health insurance also changed in January, and the new company prides itself on denying benefits. The appeals will be time-consuming and exhausting.
Lastly, I’ve been fighting a cold/bronchitis/flu/whatever for two weeks. The last time it was this bad, in 2008, I ended up in the hospital for four days with pneumonia. This time, I began antibiotics two days sooner than in 2008, and finally, I’m beginning to believe I’ve turned the corner on it. Breathing is, indeed, good. Last night I slept from 3am to 2pm, and my awful cough did not disturb (actually, destroy) my sleep for the first time in 12 days.
Then I realized it is Friday.
Instead of piling on to all of this on-going struggle by forcing myself to meet self-imposed, very demanding expectations of producing two specialized Friday blog posts, I’m saying “No, stop. Rest. Restore.” That’s a radical concept for me — it feels sort of like giving up. But it’s a lesson I must learn, and it keeps popping up in my life. It’s more than past time.
I plan to be back next week.