I've had a rough couple of weeks.
You know, the ones that blindside you.
Where you're living life with the plans in your head, the to-do's on your list wielding the control that comes from doing your deal and then, wham...life says, take this and that and because we can, have a little more.
I won't bore you with all of the details...because really, on any given day, we all have our own unexpected series of shit storms to deal with.
But what I'd like to explore is how I cope. I feel like I've learned a lot about who I am by watching myself operate from the 30,000 foot balcony view.
And here's how it goes down.
Shitty thing happens.
I freeze. I freeze for a while longer. I think, no. Didn't just happen. It settles. It did happen.
I stay seated on the couch with my winter coat on staring at the wall unable to be practical, I'm just paralyzed.
Depending upon said shitty thing, I cry or my eyes well up.
I take off coat and knowing that it will take too long for the kettle to get hot, I search for a cookie or a leftover piece of pie or both or the whole pie.
I eat and recount various components of said shitty thing and its aftermath.
I feel sad. I feel angry. I feel hopeful. I feel pissed. I feel raw. I feel vulnerable. I feel alone. I feel, I feel.
Share shitty news with a few select confidants who remind me that I more than said shitty event and all will be well and that despite my overactive imagination, I'm not alone.
Take hot shower. Breathe. Trust.
But despite what I know about who I am, I don't run. I sleep in every morning for 10 days. I continue to eat yummy holiday foods and feel badly.
And then, this morning, I wake up and say enough. The pity party is done. It's time for healing to begin. And it must begin by putting one foot in front of the other.
In anything in my life, I've recovered through activity, not through extensive contemplation. The answers always emerge in the doing, not in the repetitive re-hashing of it all.
And so, this is what I know about me. When the shit hits the fan, I become paralyzed. I don't take care of me. I stop running, writing, smiling and I start eating, sleeping, and freezing.
The choice is to choose me, to take care of the me that is resilient, that gets back onto the battle field and that takes the blind leap of faith back into her life.
Here's to the end of 2014, but even better, here's to all that's in store in the new one...one foot step at a time.