Sundays are for catnaps. For boutique browsing. For sun soaking. For book diving.
As I lay in bed, that mid-afternoon sun pushing through the blinds and Chloe girl at my feet, I think about how many Sundays have come and gone since I have written last.
Perhaps one of the saddest parts of growing up is how all too often we allow ourselves to become completely engulfed in responsibility and people pleasing, to the point of breakdown, before we pause and reevaluate.
That is where I find myself on this particular Sunday. Slowly climbing my way back to mental clarity; breathing slightly deeper and pausing a little longer. In fact, it is quite telling how much the power of saying NO has been directed at my own self lately.
I have been addicted to “busy” for years. The feeling that productivity is everything and if I am not constantly one step ahead of myself, I am failing. What is that saying…….”Never become so busy making a living that you forget to make a life”? GUILTY. AS. CHARGED.
That is, until I found myself sobbing uncontrollably at night; sick with stress; wanting to run and hide every chance I could. But no matter how far I ran, the burnout was inevitably there waiting. The flawed thinking, the skewed priorities, and the knee-jerk life reactions that were embedded in me like a tick.
So here I am, yet again, finding my way back to myself.
“Heal yourself first. The rest will come later.”