Before the pandemic hit, I used to be a fan of being busy. I had no idea how much I used this as medicine to avoid thinking about things and being alone with my thoughts until I was forced to stay in my house for months on end, escaping only to the grocery store or drive-thru. But it was a lot.
I used to wake up every morning at 5:45 to get a workout in before my kids had to be up for school. Then, I’d go out for a run, come home, shower, and take my laptop and hit the road. It was too much to stay inside an empty house all day alone, so I’d work at coffee shops or fast-food joints just to be around people and keep the void from creeping in.
If there was extra work, I’d take it even if it meant I’d be stretched too thin
On the nights my kids were with their father, I always made plans. If it wasn’t convenient to meet with girlfriends, I’d hit a spin class, make an appointment to do something, go out to eat alone, go to the movies, or busy myself with a home project.
It wasn’t until last March, when everything closed down and I didn’t even have the excuse to drop off my kids at school as a means to get out of the house, that I was faced with the fact that I would have to learn to slow down. To be more content staying at home. To be able to have a clear calendar and not feel like I was itching all over.
I used to think I just liked being busy because having three kids in such a short amount of time raised my capacity for living a fast-paced life, and since I’d felt that speed and gotten used to it, I couldn’t go back.
Along the way, I forgot how to relax
I mean really relax and be OK and know I had a purpose if my calendar was empty and I wasn’t running around doing all the things.
When they first announced school would be closed, I knew my days of getting up early would be a thing of the past. My kids no longer had to get ready for school, and they didn’t have to sign into their classrooms until after 7:30 a.m.
One would think after having three kids and missing out on so much sleep that I’d long for those mornings. But the first few months were really tough. I’d wake up early anyway and lie in bed stirring in my thoughts until I couldn’t take it anymore.
I’d get up with bubbling anxiety thinking about all the things I needed to accomplish when, really, I had less than half of the things that needed to get done and double the time. It was a slow process, but I began to sleep in until the sun came up. I told myself there was no rush — I’d get it all done and everything would be fine.
More than anything, I learned I don’t need all the busy to feel complete and fulfilled
All these years I’d been running from a void I thought was there. I tried to fill in the fact that my kids were getting older and that I was now a divorced woman driving through life solo with get together with friends, always having a book in line to read when my next one was done, and always needing to have something big and epic to do. It turns out I didn't have to do that all along.
The truth is, in my whole life, I’ve never felt so content and OK with things just happening.
Not only did I have no choice but to stay put, it turns out everything else that I thought was important, really wasn’t.
It took some time and some hard work
There were still times when I feel antsy and like there’s no end in sight. But now, thanks to the dumpester fire that was 2020, I’ve learned something about myself: I am going to be OK and make it through any stressful situation.
Being a single mother navigating her way through a pandemic has shown me that I am strong and I no longer need to keep running away from my own thoughts, and that having a full social calendar doesn't make me whole. I am enough just as I am.
