I went for a run today. It was wonderful. Cold, drizzly, my knee hurt, my feet got wet, and I pushed myself really hard. Three of the four miles were under 14 minutes each. The 4th one was… well, there was a big hill. Let’s leave it at that. I know this isn’t a fast pace…I’m not sure if I’m saying that because I feel like I have to qualify it but – probably. Yes, world, I know I’m not a professional or even average athlete. There. I said it. Happy?.
Regardless, for me at 9 months postpartum, just trying to get back into the swing of things, this was an exhilarating pace. Okay, let me stop playing it cool – this is a decent pace for me even at my best.
It’s so easy to take for granted something as simple as just being alone outside for more than the amount of time it takes to walk to to the garbage can or the mailbox.
…Overall, today was a great day but now here I am, trying to wind it up in a relaxing way and experiencing the absolute opposite effect. I am anxious. That seems normal – I’m living through a pandemic after all. But that’s not what I’m anxious about. I cannot sit still for any period of time without experiencing the creep of nervous energy – the voice in the back of my mind reminding me that I am not being productive.
I keep seeing people talk about how we should be taking this time during the pandemic to rest and “be kind” to ourselves. Yeah. Okay. I longingly think of pictures that the word “resting” brings to mind but I’m not sure it’s possible to “rest” when you have a full time job and a family – whether it be kids at home or other family members that you need to visit in your off time.
I can’t watch ten minutes of Netflix anymore without thinking about all the repairs I need on my house, making a mental grocery list, and worrying about whether my kid will be safe in the elementary school she attends in five years. I feel my biological clock slowly winding down and stress about whether or not I’ll be capable of having another child… and OMG what if my eggs don’t make it another month, much less 6?!
Somewhere in my life there was a switch from being a procrastinator who worried about nothing to this person that thinks if you don’t turn in an assignment before the deadline then it’s late. Fucking capitalism, man. I know that the drive for productivity is ruining the quiet moments that I should be enjoying. I’m just not sure how to stop it.
So, for now, I guess I’ll just own it? Here I am – an anxious little ball of nerves complaining and wishing I had spent the past half hour recapping the hour I spent laying back on the floor watching raindrops accumulate on the window pane, with my legs kicked up on the couch and a delighted, baby girl crawling all over and collapsing on top of me, raising her head up, giggling and smiling with all 4 teeth in pure, unadulterated joy.
…And just by recalling that, I feel better. There are moments. There are some really good moments and until I learn how to “rest,” I’ll just have to settle for hopping from one to the next.