December 6, 2016 / 4 Comments
I’m an artist, a dreamer, but I’m also a doer and a go-getter.
I’m getting pretty good at working smarter rather than harder or longer. But I still have this urge to feel productive at least a few hours out of each day. No matter WHAT. Nothing can stop me. Or so I wish to believe.
By productive I mean doing something that moves my art, my writing, my business, forward. I am also a stickler to my daily yoga practice. In the past that would have been running, or dancing, or weight-lifting. In short, exercise.
As long as I get some work done and and make it to the yoga studio, I feel accomplished.
House chores, grocery shopping and cooking feel like distractions to me. I don’t count those activities as “being productive.” In fact, sometimes I wish I didn’t have to break to eat. As I’ve mentioned in previous blog posts, this is not because I have willpower.
It’s because I have an addictive, obsessive-compulsive personality. I’ve simply learned to harness it and put it to good use.
Now this is all fine. Until, that is, I get hit by a curveball like a bad cold. Usually I try to push through and keep all the balls in the air even when I’m sick. And then of course my cold lasts not one but two or more weeks, because I did not take care of myself.
My kids have all had colds recently, and I’ve been there to nurse them back to their healthy selves. And so of course, a few days ago, I got sick too.
This time the cold hit me so hard that every muscle hurt. I couldn’t breathe, I coughed non-stop, and I had a bad case of brain-fog. I didn’t go to the yoga studio so I wouldn’t make my fellow yogis sick too … If that were not an issue, I’d have made it there one way or another.
I tried to work a bit a couple days ago, but exhaustion hit me and I felt my energy just wither away. I did the tasks I simply needed to do, and then set an out-of-office auto responder on my e-mail.
I spent the rest of the day lying in bed reading. Paper books. I even read a novel I had bought 2 years ago but never got around to opening. I finished it. I started another book. One day turned into two. Today is the third day and I’m feeling much better.
I work for myself, so other than checking in with editors and clients to let them know I may be slower in getting back to them, I’m good. I mean, I don’t have to ask a boss for a sick day. I don’t have to ask anyone for a sick day. Only me.
Although my body did everything to let me know I just needed to stay in bed, and I did, instead of just enjoying the rest, I did what I tend to do. I felt, and still feel, guilty.
Guilty for not forging on as usual, for not doing a full yoga practice even if I do it at home. For not working on the book I need to turn in on February 1. For not being able to cross off everything on my To-do list.
I’m married to a fellow writer, and I know he also feels guilty if any kind of illness sets him back. We have this obsession with being productive. But when he gets sick I tell him to relax, to chill, he deserves it. It’s so easy to see from the outside and so hard to accept when it’s me.
Maybe it’s because I’ve always worked for myself. Maybe it’s because my paycheck depends on the hours I put in. Maybe it’s because in 2009 I was a single mom on welfare. Maybe it’s because I feel that life is too short to be lying around nursing a cold. Maybe I think the “gods of freelancing” won’t send more work my way if I don’t do the grind no matter what.
I’m still trying to figure this one out. Unfortunately I’m not writing the post to give you answers. I don’t have any. I’m just trying to find out whether there are others like me out there. Are there? Are you one of them? If so, how do you cope with this guilt when you just aren’t at your best. When you simply NEED to rest? It’s never too late to learn a new life skill!