needing a hole in the ground

I woke up at 9.30 am, next to my dog, who had taken my man’s side of the bed. Today was my day off the gym, and I felt very much inclined to take it easy and embrace relaxation and healing. I decided right then and there that I was going to have a pyjama day. It was the first pyjama day I’d had in months and months. I leisurely spent my morning sewing, writing an email and ignoring the piles of dishes, clothes on the floor and general household chaos. Goodness, I’m good at not doing housework now.

3.00 pm arrived and I felt that great bodily weariness which often surrounds me at this time of day. It didn’t seem wise to push through it considering I’m meant to be look after my health post-move. I decided to snuggle up on the couch for an hour’s recuperation. 

3.24 pm. My eyes are flung open by the distinct sound of people coming up the drive. The first thought that flashes into my mind is, “It’s the Jehovah Witnesses.”

But almost instantly this thought is replaced with another, more accurate, more terrifying one.

“No it’s not. IT’S FRIDAY AFTERNOON, AND THIS IS THE AGENT COME TO SHOW PEOPLE THROUGH THE HOUSE. Craaaaaap.” 

My heart is suddenly pumping like a mad thing, and I feel all shaky and weak and gushing with something they call adrenalin. I am standing up now, in my pink dressing gown, with my overly excited Wolfgang barking like crazy. They are just approaching the porch.

I am not meant to be in the house at all, neither is Wolfgang, and the house is not fit to be seen, and I’m in pyjamas and....

I open the door before the real estate agent gets a chance to unlock it with her keys.

“I am soo sorry! I completely forgot. Can you just give me two minutes?” I say in a manufactured- calm voice, as I just peak my head out of the door in the hopes that she won’t see my pink dressing gown.

She graciously grants my request, and I close the front door as I run full pace into my bedroom, skidding along the wooden floors. The bedroom floor is covered, as always, in my clothes. I tear off my pyjamas and dash on my track pants. I start wildly picking up my clothes and stuffing them under the doona, armful at a time. What can I do, when there is no cupboard to jam them in? It looks so she-just-hid-her-clothes-in-the-bed, so lumpy, so obvious.

The sewing room...well, I just hope with all of me they don’t walk in there, because they will come out with sewing pins stuck in their feet.

I run outside to where Wolfgang is, and in my sweetest voice I coax him into putting on his leash. Then I skid back to the front door, wondering how long my re-dressing and bed-stuffing took. I’m pretty sure it can’t have been more than half a second.  

I open the door again. This time I have opened the door a lot wider as I’m not trying to hide my dressing gown. I glance down with embarrassment to see the cords of my track pants hanging out, just a little reminder of my panicked dressing. I apologise again with genuine I’m-so-sorry tones in my voice, and tell her that I haven’t been well so it quite slipped my mind. She replies that ‘there has been a lot of that going round’ and I gladly take this illusion to my having a virus. Four year virus, what of it.

After all this turmoil she says that the potential buyers have just looked at the backyard and it’s not what they were hoping for. They don’t want to look through the house after all. I close the door.

I’m still flowing with nervous energy. I’m quivering inside, and feeling a big looming dose of anxiety coming my way. I also feel some escalating self-hatred for forgetting an appointment. And then I look at my chalkboard, which this week says, 

“Grace for the things that matter.”

It’s something that I have been thinking about a lot lately. It never works when I say to myself, “It doesn’t matter, don’t worry about it!” Because, all of me disagrees. All of me says, “It does matter!” 

Picture source

What I’m learning is that I cannot be perfect. I can’t remember perfectly, or be the perfect wife, or the perfect host, or flautist, or friend, or writer...and that is ok, because there is grace and understanding, from God, from me, and often from others too. Life is important, and flute, and relationships, and the house, and my arrangements with the real estate agent are important. It’s a lie to say they’re not. But there is grace. So even though they do matter, I don’t have to feel anxious when they don’t go quite right.

There is grace for the things that matter. 

And so I applied some grace to myself, and got over it all faster than I have ever gotten over an embarrassing mistake before. 

being incredible

From time to time I have a day of insanity and decide that I am going to be superwoman A+ wife. Let’s make that, housewife. I model myself on a 1950’s wife, and decide to feed my man, wash for him, keep the house impeccably clean, and basically be incredibly industrious. Oh, and look good too.

 1955,  The Good Wife's Guide

Yesterday I was in this ridiculous frame of mind due to having slightly more energy than usual, combined with delusional thoughts that I am a failure of a wife for rarely cooking or cleaning. 

The day started well. I was enthused, and confident that yes I could tidy the house, clean the rabbit cage, do the washing, go to the gym and make dinner. Despite my illness. 

It got to 2 pm and I started to feel very worn out, and just plain ill. The house was tidy, I was exercised, I had some shopping, but oh how was I to make dinner? I granted myself the luxury of an hour’s nap feeling guilty for such a deviation from domestic goddess-ing. This nap was far from relaxing because I knew that I needed to get up shortly and keep ploughing on. My nap ended before I’d even began to unwind. But I decided that I was not going to fail, not this time, I just wanted to be a ‘proper housewife’ for one measly day. Partially because people pity Ben for having to work AND look after himself and his sick wife...and I take those comments as a judgement on me and my limitations. I resolutely dragged my ill body from the enticing couch and walked myself into the kitchen where I proceeded to cook my first meal in months. 

It was 5.30 and Ben arrived home. 

I felt deflated, ill and irritable. Exhausted from my efforts, I had nothing left to give, not even a laugh. I didn’t enjoy our time together because I was spent and ruined. By 8.30 pm I had the early onset of a migraine. By 10.00pm I had a head splitting migraine, which was not about to allow me any rest. I lay in bed holding my head for dear life, while moaning that I wouldn’t be able to make it to my appointment the next morning and what a disaster this would be. We didn’t get off to sleep till the early hours of the morning – and here ended my day of being a super housewife. Super.

A gorgeous friend (find her here) who is also chronically sick put it just perfectly after I told her my feelings:

But you can love him, laugh with him, cuddle him, be there, talk to him, smile, hug him, comfort him, care for him, and make him excited to come home for dinner. Aren’t those things more important and more precious than cleaning and cooking?

How many times has Ben said he doesn’t want me to waste energy on the house, because it’s not important, because it’s not what counts...

And I continually fall into the trap of wanting to be society’s ideal partner– the girl who earns an income, or the girl who is the classic capable housewife...instead of being his best friend and most loyal supporter. When I said my vows, I didn’t promise to cook dinner, I promised to love him and cherish him and respect him and that is all he ever wanted from me. 

Today I took my wifeing to a whole new level. I spent time with my friend, took my dog to the park and lay in the sunshine, lay on the couch, ate food and left the dishes untouched....and I am so ready to hang out with my man tonight. 

Dear Self,

I know you're a slow learner, but why do you keep getting side tracked from life by living up to unimportant expectations?

Seriously, D 

ten tips for dumping stress

We like ‘before and afters’. We like it when the after is better than the before. Like when that pimply, unruly maned girl is transformed into a sleek haired, white teethed, glossy lipped wonder. “That’s better”, we sigh as we gladly rest our eyes on the appealing yet unnatural sigh before us. Uniqueness has been whisked away, and exchanged for a tantalising package of ‘perfect’.  Ahhh. 

Here are ten commandments I held to, before.

• 1. Thou shalt be perfect or at least try to be.
• 2. Thou shalt try to be all things to all people.
• 3. Thou shalt not leave things undone that ought to be done.
• 4. Thou shalt do as much as possible.
• 5. Thou shalt always say "YES".
• 6. Thou shalt not schedule time for thyself as this is lazy.
• 7. Thou shalt always strive to work harder at school and flute.
• 8. Thou shalt be vivacious, tidy, elegant and attractive at all times.
• 9. Thou shalt feel guilty if standards are lowered 
• 10. Thou shalt not be weak in anyway 

I realise now that I tried to follow these commandments to the letter for a few too many years. I am quite attracted to them. They seem to promise wonderful things. I see elegant people, I see helpful people, I see hard workers and want to be all those things, all the time, no exceptions. Perfectionism. Workaholism. I slip into these commands with ease, and ignore their folly and impracticality. But I have had to snip them up and chuck them in the bin because they are no match for me physically or emotionally. It’s not a healthy relationship, and I’ve cut ties...but the attraction remains, and I have to fight it every single day. 

I found the following on a chronic fatigue syndrome site and it was love at first sight. I suggest printing off the following rules and blu-tacking them up in the toilet so that you read them a few times each day:

Ten Commandments For Reducing Stress

• 1. Thou shalt not be perfect or try to be.
• 2. Thou shalt not try to be all things to all people.
• 3. Thou shalt leave things undone that ought to be done.
• 4. Thou shalt not spread thyself too thin.
• 5. Thou shalt learn to say "NO".
• 6. Thou shalt schedule time for thyself, and for thy supporting network.
• 7. Thou shalt switch off and do nothing regularly.
• 8. Thou shalt be boring, untidy, inelegant and unattractive at times.
• 9. Thou shalt not even feel guilty.

10. Thou shalt not be thine own worst enemy, but thine own best friend.

 

This doesn’t rule out working hard, being dependable, striving towards something....it just enforces a rational, realistic and healthy approach to life.

I have not got these commandments sussed. Yet. I still think that having a piece of chocolate by myself is un- self-controlled, I still say ‘yes’ to all kinds of things which stress me out, I still agonise over leaving the house with bad hair or outfit, I still apologise for being blah to people because I’m tired, and I still feel guilty for relaxing some days....But I struggle and fight, and consciously decide to do what I know to be right. And I imagine that if you ask me in a decade how I am going with these new life rules, I will still be struggling against my natural desires – but hopefully, I will be much more relaxed and dare I say it... healthy.

I think this ‘after’ is better, by far.