I've had a few people repeat the same phrase to me in quick succession, and it's politely but firmly refusing to be ignored. "You cannot be all things to all people." A couple folks have used the exact same phrasing, a few others have offered up the same spirit. Clearly, if I need the same reminder, something is up. I cannot be all things to all people. I want to be everywhere. I want to say yes to most every invitation. I have a number of people that I want to catch up with that likely only require one text to start the cascade. I want to reach out to people that I know need to be reminded that they are well thought of. I want to invite myself over to visit people that have left me an open door. I also need to balance my own goals and needs. I find myself overwhelmed by balancing these pieces alone, when even my Netflix queue feels judgmental, as though I haven't even consumed enough leisure and turning that into a chore, too. Sometimes, my priorities are obvious. I took an impromptu trip to Chicago last week because being present is infinitely important in the right context--there was no question of my making this particular trip, just the logistics. Other times, my body makes biological needs profoundly clear, at least when I have enough wherewithal to ask the question. On the big things, I tend to know the answer, though there can be a process in then talking myself into the answer I already know (e.g. quieting the survival voices enough to consider the emotional costs more accurately). Other times, I need a sounding board or to wait until I can process the question. And the little things, well, I would say that I have a lot of anxiety about what little things are actually big things and have a bit of a freeze response, in addition to the general kind of freeze from the sheer number of little things. I want to be there for those I love, to listen, support, or whatever else is needed. I want to be present in more places. Everyone has their own set of challenges that they face and kindness makes a world of difference. I acknowledge that I can't be everywhere--and I'm not even wanted everywhere--but that desire to be present is still pressing. Also, I have a very real fear of missing out. In coping with my illness, there are things I have had to turn down and pieces that I missed out on and many, many times the conversation keeps happening just on the other side of the bathroom door, without me. I want to make up for all the lost time, the relationships I've lost when I couldn't be present anymore, and other related pieces that I cannot put a name on. Declining an invitation twinges that grief and anger in ways that are an uncomfortable kind of familiar. And I want to compensate for time and experiences lost. These feelings rise up every so often. When I'm feeling down, I want to ask myself why I'm not doing more for those I care about, falling into a shame cycle. My self esteem is not normally tied to the perceived use I am to others, but part of this wave seems to drive it to the forefront. I forget that my needs are also part of the needs of the group, sometimes leading to a particular kind of neglect even in the name of meeting the emotional need of "not missing out." Ironically, when I do something for a friend, I can find myself more frustrated that I don't do X or Y more often or for these other friends, too; it's almost like refractory period of a heartbeat, a low space where the heart cannot electrically stimulate and all the ion channels are open, until pieces can reset once more to fire, stimulate, and contract again.
Logically, I know that the following are true and accept them:
I have a finite amount of energy
I cannot make all people happy--I will inevitably let people down
I cannot be in all places
I will still want to deny all of these
I very much struggle to give myself the same compassion that I would readily give anyone else. And again, it's not logical and it is decidedly cyclical. I just needed to name the cliff for a moment today. Rather than fight the wave and choke on the seawater, I'm going to bodysurf for a moment or two once again and let the wave make its way through. It usual does in a day or two. I'm still growing in my capacity to be compassionate to myself: I aim give myself the time and space to feel what I need to feel, think about where I might want to redirect or follow up on, and take the opportunity to listen to myself again for the answers I already know.
I enjoy going to plays and concerts, particularly in my community. We've seen shows at ISU, IWU, all three high schools in town, the Shakespeare Festival, the Community Players, and certainly some others that I'm forgetting at the moment. However, once we're out of the immersion and the lights have gone back up, there's that awkward limbo space afterwards. I enjoy talking about it immediately with anyone that might have come with me, discussing all of the different nuances within the show itself, how we were taken in, particular characters that spoke to us, particular actors that stuck out to us, and all else. This part is fine. It's the ambling toward the exit and seeing the receiving line that I struggle with. The closer that I get to this line, the more anxious I feel. What am I supposed to say here? If there is someone that I know, it's easy to spot them out and congratulate them and tangentially those who happen to be next to them. When I don't have a friend in the show, I want to find the ones that have just pulled me through the right kind of emotional journey or made me think or whatever else may have happened in that short escape from my normal life, but if they're next to someone else, do I have to think of an individually tailored response to that person, too? In short, walking up to the receiving line, I end up wracking my brain to compile individual compliments for each player I may encounter because something feels hollow about "Good job!" to each person in the line after the other. So I'm ashamed to say that more often than not I chicken out and slip out quickly, trying to make as little eye contact as possible. And I deserve that guilt. Undoubtedly, I have had many great things to say to my companions about what I noticed in the show or how they approached different things or how a particular player really sucked me in--it does not seem like a big step to just tell that person. But that overthinking if I do single out a particular player that the person next to them might be wondering why I haven't said something to them, too, and I feel overwhelmed, that I don't have the same kind of insightful feedback for every person off the top of my head even though logically I'm certain that even those "You did thing good" comments are greatly appreciated. But I wuss out way more frequently than I should, and I keep that praise and appreciation unspoken. I tell myself that I'll write a thoughtful letter and send it to their Facebook page or whathaveyou as I leave, knowing that I'm going to get distracted by life again until the time interval seems too far past. All of the gratitude and joy and cognitive dissonance stirred up by their participation, it fades into nothingness. I know that these persons have bared themselves before me, put themselves out there, and otherwise put their time and energy into this performance. I won't say that they do it for my praise, but I know enough creative people to know that they also need feedback. Some of it, I already have--why do I leave it unsaid? How could I imply that I did not appreciate their passion by my silence like this? A couple of years ago, I made a personal challenge to myself that when I thought a positive thing about a person that I would make an effort to voice it in the moment. This has been a vastly successful experiment, where I know that I have made a positive impact on the tone of someone's day a few times over. I feel that this is a natural space where I can renew that challenge, a place where I can expand my comfort zone a bit further and let these persons know how much their efforts were appreciated. And in the pressure of the moment, there will be some pieces of "great job!" and "well done!" that I know will still be received gratefully and are worth the effort. ...This also means that I will need to go to some more local shows for practice. Oh, shucks.
Whelp, my body has told me something loud and clear: I am in a creative block.
I haven't had a big push to write, aside from my self-imposed deadline. I haven't be able to draw. I don't feel like making music, aside from humming along with whatever I'm doing.
I know the crux of the problem originates in a couple of pieces that I simply have not had the time, the words, or the conditions to finish. AND YET until I am able to get this particular piece out of me, I don't seem to be able to make much else, at least not with the ease I have in other places.
So, writer's block. How the hell do we deal with that? Or if you're not a writer but understand that creative rut, how do we get out of it?
For me, one of my best methods is to write anyway. The words tend to fill themselves in, even if it's just a few paragraphs complaining that I can't find the right words. But the act of writing puts me in a better space to write. It's the like gym: the hard part is actually getting there.
Another method--switch mediums for a while. Go plunk something out on the piano or find a new recipe or pull out the crayons for a bit and color. Just make something. Add something into the world that wasn't there before. Then, at least, the pressure has lessened, letting a little air out of the balloon of expectations you've set for yourself. This also helps preempt the shame cycle elements, where the frustration of not creating something turns into self-criticism and exacerbates itself into a spiraling pit of self-doubt and blah.
Finding something physical to do for a while helps, too. That can be going for a walk or even a long drive or going to the gym, just something where you cannot be doing much else because you are doing that thing--can't check your phone when your hands aren't free to do much with it or if you strategically left it behind. For me, that's part of the joy of swimming--I do not currently have a means to even listen to music while I perform my laps, let alone check social media.
Taking a break is okay, too. Healthy, even. Provided that it does not further that frustration cycle--if you can give yourself the grace to have a break, do it; if that's going to make things worse, try setting a very defined break (e.g. taking one week off) and then come back after. For me, a deadline is helpful--I have established that I'm not quitting forever, just taking a break--but for others it makes things worse. Whatever combination works best for you will vary by situation, even for the same person. It will take a certain level of self-awareness to sort out the right one. Unless I'm on the taking a break tack specifically, though, I feel it's important to keep creating. Not creating, to me, is physically painful when left too long. I need to make things. If I'm not stringing words together somewhere or building something with my own hands for too long, there is an anxiousness that I cannot quiet. That anxiousness becomes a pressure. That pressure can trigger some shame cycles or otherwise just sit there steadily swelling in the back of my mind. Some catharsis is needed. It's like needing to eat. And like eating, there are different dietary needs, certainly, but I feel that most everyone has this urge but to different degrees or by calling it a different name. I very much believe that creativity is applicable to far more places than it isn't, meaning I don't have to do traditional "art" to be meeting that creative need. Figuratively, I'm burnt out on one of my favorite foods at the moment--I'm going on clear liquids to let a few things reboot and then steadily adding pieces back into my normal diet again. It will pass. It always does. And I allow the wave to move through (begrudgingly more often than not). It's a chance for some new discovery in the meanwhile.
I was speaking with my therapist in early December, and we were settling about scheduling. I made the suggestion that we go ahead and schedule into January, acknowledging that he was probably going to fill up pretty quickly this time of year. He agreed emphatically that it was a good idea. My follow-up question then was firstly how he was taking time for himself this year, and then a question I didn't expect to have a solid answer for: "knowing that people seem to need you more in this season, how do you balance that tension between what you need and being there for us?" The short of the answer was "as best I can." I mean, I empathize with that tension, but I don't have as many persons dependent on it--I'm a freelance emphathizer, maybe? I know I cannot fully understand the outside pieces of how that balance works, but I was definitely thinking more about my own.
We're winding down a season at the moment. There's a feeling of transition, frustration, and no small amount of hurting that seems to be present in my circle right now.
Some folks are starting to pull out of it now, but there is no small amount of lingering exhalation that needs to happen. Somewhere in the second or third family gathering for Christmas, I recognized that I did not have as much emotional energy to spend as I had thought. There were some missing recharge moments. There were a few last minute adjustments that were not factored in. There were extra errands when shipments delayed one package or another. Different places had different hours that broke the routine. Many, many small pieces came together to be collective frustrations. And at the same time, it's good to reconnect with family and see folks again, and how can one complain about that? There's an odd mix of gratitude, joy, and frustration that roll through in waves. Guilt is often closely on the tail of frustration, just for color.
I needed to stop and do some self-inventory, but it didn't feel like there was time. Or more honestly, I was afraid of the answer. I didn't even have my body to blame this time. I hit my wall and pushed forward anyway. There was a conscious choice in those moments.
So I scheduled in another few miles in the pool. And some very intentional writing time. And some forced pauses, for air and for somatic assessments. I came to three conclusions:
I have not been factoring my emotional load from work to its fullest potential--there's still a fair bit of adjustment to resolve regarding my change to management. I need to find a more efficient way to carry this, because I know that the baggage does not magically disappear.
I did not buffer the events adequately--having a short bit of time in between events to process them fully, that makes a difference.
I did not check in with myself while the events were happening. This one is the real kicker, I think. I didn't talk to myself while things were happening. There needs to be some actual conversation between the parts of myself, in order to meet the needs of the situation. Some parts of me would have been appeased just to have been acknowledged, frankly. I was present in the moment and yet inadvertently leaving parts of myself behind, meaning that other areas had to pick up the slack and collectively that means I wore out a bit faster, for not even assessing if I needed a rest. This is a great opportunity to further expand my own awareness and to develop some new practices.
So what does that mean for now? I'm aggressively reclaiming my schedule, very pointedly stating my intentions for my schedule for the day, and ultimately absorbing into myself a little more than usual. With some of my Christmas money, we went to Mega Replay and I swapped in my Fitbit for an upgraded model, which has a few more tricks and syncs much faster to my phone. What this refractory period looks like for me is a lot of trips to the gym and/or testing out a couple of different workouts at home. Once I have reconnected those pieces, I can expand back out once again. It's almost like an apology to myself, that I recognize I was overwrought on some places, so I'm trying to spend a lot of quality time in my own head, able to assert this time under the guise and added benefit of bettering my health. The trick is to ensure that it's not crossing the line to self-flagellation--in these cycles before, I have DEFINITELY crossed the line into overdoing it.
I don't think I've crossed the line yet, where working out does more harm than good, but I'm pleased to be able to push myself in ways that I haven't been able to do safely in years, if that makes sense. There were (and still are) places where if I were to borrow tomorrow's energy, it would take me literal weeks to recover. There are spaces now where my body tells me it's tired and I can say "one more hard lap." Never more than one so far, but at least one more. It starts with one. My mile is getting faster. That does my heart good in a few ways.
Once I have regained the right balance, then what? Can I better balance next year through any strategic planning? Do I just accept that I will feel simultaneously filled and tired? Can I start the refractory period earlier to better the balance? Or is just oddly healthy to be thrown out of whack from time to time to appreciate what balance is?
The holiday season hits everyone differently, for reasons specific to them even when the themes might be familiar. Wishing you and yours the best kind of rebalancing you can find.
