Juggling

I have had a planner as a constant companion since high school.  At some point, it started to become the calendar function on my phone, supplemented with electronic post-its.  When friends asked if we could attend one event or the other, Andy tends to look over to me--I carry the core calendar but compare against his work one verbally with him as the final decision.  I like organizing in certain contexts.  For example, I find in this world that there are people who prefer to pack and those that prefer to unpack--I'm the former, enjoying the satisfaction of tetris-ing a box or suitcase to its best possible scenario.  Organization also helps me feel prepared and in control of different situations, which in turn helps me to feel calmer about those situations.  In other words, sometimes I manage my anxiety by overpreparation, but there is a fuzzy line between useful preparation and obsessive preparation.  As long as I fall on the right side of that line then it's a helpful thing.  With the unpredictability of Crohn's, I try to preempt and prepare for as many possibilities as possible; I've gotten better at recognizing when the preparations are crossing a line, at which point I recognize the need to step back and let the situation be whatever it's going to be at that point.

Usually, I only put the major events in my calendar, such as anything (other than work) that has a specific start time.  But all of the other little things like make sure X bill is paid, check to see if we're out of Y in the fridge, reorder Z prescription before you run out, I tend to keep those on an internal list.  One of those invisible tasks, then, is to continue maintaining the internal checklist.  This works until the list gets rather full, and then a switch seems to be flipped where maintaining the internal checklist has become an impossible task.

Now that keeping the list has become impossible, the balls that I've kept suspended in the air through careful juggling start to get a bit shakier, until I start dropping them altogether.  I forget that I haven't replied to that email  or I realize I haven't paid that bill until the day before it's due or I simply forgot that I had agreed to be a part of one event or another or my gym schedule starts slipping away.  Suddenly, even the events that need to get added to the calendar start getting skipped, too.  That pattern continues until more and bigger balls are dropped and the anxiety builds to a point where I am so focused on maintaining the juggling that I forget to do things like eat.

Before it gets a point where I'm feeling wholly overwhelmed, I open up the electronic version of a post-in note list on my phone.  I make my internal list an external one, and quite suddenly the mental burden feels much, much better.  I put little things on the list like "shower" and "eat breakfast" and "brush your teeth."  Sometimes, when my anxiety and depression are bad enough, these are necessary reminders, but more frequently these are things that I can easily check off of my list, to feel good about what I managed to accomplish that day.

Because those little things are always there.  Those habits are a part of the routine, sure, but I still did them and take a quick moment of recognition and to thank myself for taking care of that task.  Andy and I do this for time to time for each other, where we will take turns listing off something that we've done for the house recently so that the other can recognize it, congratulate/thank, and then list something that they've done, back and forth to meet that need of appreciation.  It can go something like this:

L:  I unloaded the dishwasher.
A:  That's great!  Thank you for doing that.  I started the laundry.
L:  Thank you for taking care of that.  I paid the bills that were on the table.
A:  Thank you for taking care of those.  I did some weeding in the garden.
L:  I'm glad you could knock that out, thank you.  I got more of X because I saw we were running out.
A:  Good thinking, thank you for seeing that and addressing it.  I tidied up the basement.
L:  Thank you, that was starting to bug me.  I appreciate that you took care of that.  I got gas on the way home from the gym.

...and so on.  We have established beforehand that it's not a contest or a mechanism to make the other person feel bad, but it's just a direct request to meet the unmet need for appreciation.  It also becomes a touch-base, where we are more aware of what the other has been contributing to the house and what problems/situations have been on their radar.  Mostly, though, we get some needed recognition for the thankless kinds of tasks that we do for one another and our household.  Sometimes I didn't even realize that I was juggling that particular ball until Andy tells me he's already taken care of it.

We have a lot of large balls that we're juggling right now--purging the house, taking purged materials to the appropriate drop-off, coordinating drop off/pick up with persons that we're selling certain items to online, packing pieces that we're keeping, working through other packing logistics, navigating these through the requirements of our work schedule, our obligations at church, my class requirements, fixing our car (currently in at a mechanic in Indianapolis--long story), other social commitments, and, oh yeah, our physical/mental health.  At this point, even things that I enjoy doing are like getting to the gym--I enjoy my time at the gym, but getting there is always the hard part.

When I start feeling that particular point, that's when I start adding those little reminders of the basic relaxation things outside of the sheer practical "eat" and "shower."  Small elements like "work on the puzzle" to take those mental health breaks.  I'm trying out a meditation app called Headspace that has to be a few minutes I take out of everyday for some deep breathing and introspection.  On our shared lists, Andy adds his own important reminders:  "kisses for Andy" get mysteriously added to the grocery list.  I add in things like reading a chapter of [current fun book I'm reading].  I assess to see what elements can safely (and trying to avoid the shame cycle part) roll over to the next day.  Andy finds that these kinds of lists give him more anxiety in some contexts than they abate, but he's still properly supportive when I show him a fully checked-off monstrosity of my day, broken into chewable bullet points.  

So why if it gives me anxiety to carry that information  internally do I not just keep a list from the start?  Some of that is pride, that I can retain all of those pieces of information; more of it, though, is that I don't realize until I make the list how much I'm actually juggling and carrying around, as though looking up at how many balls are in the air will make them suddenly plummet to the ground.  And yet, when I feel anxious that I cannot get to one point or another from my list, there is a moment of introspection then of "what is the real urgency on this?" that I couldn't actually assess when it was flying from one hand to the other.

This list makes me pause.  I have a moment to be with myself where the balls aren't flying around and actually count how many there are, notice the color, observe the texture, and actually assess what's happening.  What urgency is or isn't there?  Are any of these impossible tasks that I can ask Andy to trade with me?  Where do I need to ask for help?  Inevitably, too, with this assessment, I can compare that to my schedule and find when I'm already in the right area for certain things or can manage to wipe that particular concern out over lunch on a given day or pack something into the car to help facilitate a spontaneous errand later.

At least on the packing we're making some good headway.  Another good couple of rounds, and we'll be close to done, apart from the things necessary for the next twenty-some-odd days.  There seem to be more days there than their really are, since both Andy and I will be traveling for work the two weeks before we move, hence some of the additional panic and urgency.  A box at a time.  A piece at a time.  Eating an elephant a bite at a time. 

The box pile groweth