I got home a week ago and have been doing poorly since Saturday. I felt great (compared to usual) when I was in Phoenix but, true to my away-from-home pattern, crashed when I returned home.
Meditating was a fantastic tool when I was in Phoenix. When I felt nausea or a meltdown coming on, I’d meditate with my trusty eye pillow on and be good to go in 30 minutes (90 minutes when I nodded off). Now the nausea simply won’t go away and relaxation is a joke. I can tell my baseline stress level is higher than it was in Phoenix. I fight to meditate, which only makes me more tense.
What’s that you say? Isn’t being at my parents’ house while my dad is sick and my mom is completely overwhelmed more stressful than being at home? I do love to be contradictory. I was actually helping and could see how everyone was really doing, not far away wondering what is really going on. Besides, the four of us had fun and laughed a lot. In my complicated way, it was less anxiety-provoking than living my normal normal life that I can’t keep up with.
I feel like I could mimic a vacation state if I got clutter and meals under some semblance of control. This amounts to thinking of what I should do — or could do if I were able. Hardly a good way to relax.
I have felt too bad and too drugged to blog. As I write I remember yet again that letting the words flow from my fingers is the best way for me to think. I finally believe myself when I say I’m very sick and my life is hard right now. That’s a big step.
I can usually put a positive twist on my struggles without thinking about it. I’ve had to search lately. Today I’m relying on the wisdom of mindfulness meditation teacher: “As long as you’re breathing, there’s more right than wrong with you.”