Tag: stress

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Life

Are we Obsessed with Working Harder, Longer, More Often?

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Or, is it just a Millennial thing?

Am I doing too much? Or, not enough? These two thoughts bounce around my head constantly. Whether it comes to parenting, managing the house, or my own personal work projects. Creative projects, sorry.

Sometimes, or rather, most of the time, it feels like I’m drowning in everything that I have to do. Splitting time up between moming, keep the house somewhat clean and organized, doing a little bit of work, doing a little bit of something I like to do to relax, and trying to keep up with this crazy world we call the internet.

When I first started blogging, it seemed so simple, so easy. I started making okay money on Medium, thinking I’ll run into some pretty-damn-good-let’s-quit-my-job money. That, obviously, did not happen. Because, the writing world exploded with people who didn’t care about writing, but cared about clickbait and made a living that way. Not for me.

Anyways.

Everything seemed so simple back then. I was freelancing and making some money. I had a job that was paying me decent. I didn’t have a child. I had tons of freedom, time, and disposable income. Now, I’m in a very different situation. Living my life as a stay at home mom, yet trying to do a bit of writing on the side and make a little bit of an income. Because being poor? I’m not into it. Not for me. I want that disposable income.

So, I’m trying everything, all at once. I scrapped my old blog, and started a new one (this bad boy you’re reading on) for the only reason because the first didn’t serve me, anymore. I threw away subscribers and followers and page views that were careening towards really great. I was making a small amount of money from my blog, and yet I didn’t care. It wasn’t for me, anymore, so I switched gears. I made 0.001cents four months ago. That’s it. I know it’s a long-game when you’re not writing clickbait, so I can breathe without passing out. But, it’s a pain in the ass.

I’ve also decided to take on personal writing projects and a bit of freelancing. I published a baby book with my friend as the illustrator , and then we published two more. (yes, hello, here is a link to all of them if you are so inclined to buy a copy)

While some may say that sounds like enough, I decided that it wasn’t and I’ve started a business with my friend, who also illustrated those children’s books. Curious as to what it is? Go have a look at Juniper and Oak Editing! I’m sure I’ll be talking about it more.

In the gig economy and reach for your stars motivation of Instagram and wherever else people get their information and jealousy from, the above sounds standard. Some days, it feels great. I’ve found that putting in tons of time into Medium gives me dick all, so I’ve stopped that. It’s now a place where I just word vomit and that’s enough for me.

My blog, my personal writing projects, those are for me. I’m writing them for people to connect with my words, for people to enjoy my content, not to explicitly make money (I mean, that’d be nice, right?). They feel like the ultimate side gig, though. Something that makes me happy, but can generate money.

So, why not add a business onto my busy-enough life? Seems logical.

From what I’ve been seeing on Instagram, the week later Tik Tok, it seems like this type of thinking is engrained in our Millennial brains. Boomers be off booming. Gen X works hard, but also plays hard. Gen Z has learned the true meaning of boundaries. And, Millennials? Well, we’re stuck at the office cleaning up everyone else’s mess while the media says we’re the ones making it. We’re there to never say no, as our parents taught us not to ‘rock the boat’ and hold a strong work ethic.

But, what happens when that strong work ethic is a bit too strong? That we want to people please, and do a great job, and be the first one in the office, and follow our dreams, and have some peaceful mental health, and go on great vacations? Burn. Out.

I’ve written about this before, but it was always about everything in life.

Toxic Motivation is Running Some of us Into Complete Exhaustion

Now? What is this burn out that I’m feeling? It feels different than before because it doesn’t just hit every couple of weeks, but every damn day. I could easily say it’s probably something neurodivergent because the obsessive is slamming with the manic and it’s an absolute riot in my brain, but that’s not the whole story.

I feel like I’m not doing enough even though I’m doing absolutely everything I can. My friends, similar ages, feel like they’re not doing enough even though they’re doing absolutely everything they can. Moms in mom groups feel like they’re not doing enough even though they’re doing absolutely everything they can.

Perhaps it’s less of a Millennial thing and more of a female thing? Because what do you get when people are born at a time when there were strong gendered roles in the world, but also at a time of the emergence of more independent women, superhero women who can do it all, and the slow shy away from specified gendered roles? Women who feel like they should be able to do it all, and do it all alone, while still shouldering most of the ‘female specified’ roles in the household, child or not.

Maybe it’s time to take a page out of a Gen Zer and say ‘no, thanks’ to a few more things. Set more boundaries. Know that I can do it all, but for only a short amount of time, and anyone saying they can is kidding themselves, or missing a key piece of life. We always see rich older gentlemen in movies sitting on a pile of wealth, but less memories with families. They have it all in a money sense, but not the whole picture, and they can afford assistants and chefs and maids.

So, what’s a person to do who cannot afford such things? Starting building those walls.

And, no, not like that.

Put up those walls to form a few boundaries. Know that we don’t need to keep working every second of the day. Know that, while it feels like we didn’t do much in the day, it adds up to a whole hell of a lot. Know that a single work day doesn’t need to cram 10–12 hours of work into 5 hours. Know that we can take breaks and breathe and take a fucking step back.

Know that, while we can have strong work ethics and work hard, we can also have less toxic environments, even if they’re the environments we have created for ourselves in our heads. Because working longer, faster, harder all the time doesn’t get you everything in the end. It just gets you burned the fuck out.

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Life

How Social Media Gave me a Breakdown and it’s all my Fault

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By nature I’m a really angry person. Lots of things set me off, some of them big, a lot of them small. I’m a big believer in the ‘no worries and move on’ type of attitude, only if it doesn’t fuck with my plans. I’m basically an old man, swinging his fist at youths who dared to step onto my lawn. But in better clothes.

Often, my angry stems from the massive amounts of anxiety I have every day. Luckily, I’ve a great therapist to help me with this. I’m often trying to get my anxious thoughts under control, I’m trying to throw logic at my obsessive and obtrusive thoughts, which usually means I’ve little patience for anything to go wrong.

Usually, I can tamp that anger down, only snapping at those closest to me. The ones I can easily apologize to and explain why I’m so angry. The ones who will forgive me much more easily than anyone else. You know, how we all do. Like the assholes we are. A few weeks ago I couldn’t keep it in. I could barely handle everyday tasks, as any fuck up made my blood pressure spike.

As an educated perfectionist who is judgey as all fuck and too hard on herself, I can’t stand stupidity. Not stupidity in that someone just hasn’t learned something yet, or is taking a while to understand something. There is nothing wrong with trying to educate yourself or trying in life. Those people do not make me angry, they make me hopeful for the future.

I’m talking about the kind of stupidity that makes you question how humanity got so far in life. The type of stupidity exercised by the ‘Karen’s’ of the world. Of the ones who read headlines and form an opinion, screaming it into the internet world at the top of their lungs. Of the stupidity that comes from total ignorance in everything around you.

I’ve done some stupid things in life, and I’m sure I’ve been ignorant a time or two (or 10 or 50). The difference is that I don’t comment in hate-filled tones, degrading anyone around me. I leave that to my brain to whisper to myself, or confiding in my friends and let them tell me I’m being ridiculous or need to take a step back and re-evaluate. That’s the thing about growing up before the internet: I know how to not use it just for hate.

I’ve long been a comment reader on social media. Whenever I see a juicy headline, I excitedly read through the article, knowing of the fresh hell that will await me in the comments section. I can’t wait to open those gates to Hades and see what all the idiots out there have to say.

To say that gleeful obsession with ignorant and hurtful comments isn’t healthy is an understatement. I understand that I shouldn’t care, that I should move on with my own opinions, perhaps writing about them in a well-researched article, or at the very least, an article that isn’t riddled with such anger it muddles my vision and logic.

The last few months* have proven how awful humanity can be. It’s also proven how wonderful it is. Unfortunately, the awful part sticks out far more than the wonderful. Like everything else in my life, my brain started to obsess on these haters, these trolls, these douches. I needed to read their comments, follow their journey, watch as others easily took them down with eloquent wording and *gasp* facts and logic.

I got too far into it, reading too many comments, reading too much fear and anger and hatred out there. My brain started needing more while feeling like it couldn’t take on another grain of stupidity. I found myself angry at everything. I found myself wondering why humanity existed, why any of us should continue to live. I found myself wondering if life was worth it in the grand ol’ scheme of things, if this was what life was like.

Though not suicidal, the thoughts were dark enough to snap me into reality. Because, living for the comments section — even if only to see a troll being taken down — isn’t reality. It’s fucked up nonsense that we, as an entire society, have begun to obsess over.

I couldn’t handle reading anything, anymore. I didn’t want to talk to friends in case I became irrationally angry. I looked for therapists to help me with my anger, yet had to wait for far too long to find one. I had broken down because of social media. Not only did that make me angry, but it made me sad. There wasn’t any reasoning for it. It was something that could easily be controlled in my life, that I didn’t have to look at, but was obsessively scrolling through.

The simple thing to do would be to just stop reading. Stop reading the news. Stop reading the comments. Take a little break. Which I did. I am a BIG fan of a news cleanse every so often. But, when you’ve already lost faith in humanity it’s hard to crawl back to the surface, to the light.

I’ve stopped engaging in social media or looking at the comments on news outlets. I slip up a time or two, my hands getting jittery when I read an exceptional piece from one of my favourite news outlets. But, I’ve learned my lesson. Nothing good can come of it and life isn’t a comments section, filled with hateful people. Rarely, are facts or reasoning found there. The poison is out there, bolded and in italics, because they’re louder than the rest.

I’ve learned my lesson that some people can be the absolute worst, but that I don’t need them in my life. Of course I’m still angry at stupidity, but in a much more sensible way. Now, when something infuriating happens, my brain doesn’t feel like it’s about to explode. I can take a breath and look at whether it really matters in the grand scheme of things, or if it’s just time to smile and move on.

*Fun fact: I wrote this a while ago. Turns out, humanity just keeps getting more and more awful as we revert back to the ‘good old days’ of absolute terror and awfulness.

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migraine life Mom Life

Stress, Self-Care, and Finding a Way out of the Storm

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I wrote most of this a few years ago, and man, did SO much happen since. Lots of great stuff, then a pandemic changing everything, pregnancy, my now 2 year old daughter. I can pin-point what was happening that made me write this, but it also holds true for times during the pandemic AND into motherhood. The idea that there isn’t enough time to do anything, and the world feels like it’s crumbling is something most of us have become accustomed to. Anyways, here’s my old take on a different type of self-care routine, and how it looks very similar to my self-care routine as a busy mom.

I’m a big believer in Self-Care. Most of what you see on your feed and magazines is all about masks and bubble baths and going to get your nails done, but that’s not the type of self-care I’m talking about. Yes, those all help if that’s your jam (and you can afford the extras), but it’s not the self-care that hits home for me. My self-care includes those things, but a little more, like acupressure mats, nature, meditation, and therapy.

The stress of trying to do everything all at once is crushing us. Pursuing our dreams, working a 9-5 if our dreams have not yet been realized, being the best partner, being the best friend, being the best parent, being the best mentally and physically. PLUS keep a work-life balance AND look good on Instagram? Impossible. Where do we fit in the time for self-care if we’re doing so much to achieve all of the above? Where do we fit in the time to just sit and stare at a TV and decompress?

As a migraine sufferer and someone with extremely high anxiety, I am all for self-care. I think it’s wonderful to sit down at the end of the day with a face mask and read before bed, giving myself that extra time to do what I love instead of chores or work (even if that work is my passion). It’s amazing to take a meditation session on the dock on my pond, listening to the birds chirp and the grasses and leaves blow in the breeze. That’s my self-care. I use it as a preventative ‘medicine’ coupled with my real medicine to keep my migraines at bay and myself sane.

A lot of people take self-care a little too seriously and a little too far (see: calling into work ‘sick’ or bailing on friends because you’re feeling a little stressed and ‘deserve’ a spa day). We’ve gone from having a hard time saying no to anything to thinking we need to say no to everything. At least, that’s the consensus on Instagram posts.

Feeling like we’re having to do absolutely seemingly has caused us to burn the fuck out and backtrack. But, in order to get back on track we’ve begun to think that we need entire days, weekends, weeks, of doing all of these amazingly blissful things. Obviously caught on camera, because then it doesn’t count.

But, here’s the thing: you can get through it. Without the full spa days and the binge-watching or the numerous yoga sessions. Are they amazing? Yes. Has a festival changed my entire life after putting things into perspective and allowing me to just breathe? Also, yes. But, we can’t be heading off to festivals every single weekend, or month. At least, I sure as hell can’t.

These last two months have been horrible and amazing. So many great things happened, so many things to celebrate and be happy for. An equal amount of terrible things have happened that made our lives busier, more stressful, and shook us. I’m penning this post the day after the storm has ended. There’s still a straggler stressing me out, causing me grief, but the busy schedule and the don’t-stop-keep-going is over.

Guys, I didn’t think I’d make it. Not in a suicidal sense, but in a sense that my body and mind was about to give up and I’d have a nervous break-down. It was too much to handle and one thing after the other kept piling up (much like my laundry and my kitchen table during these last two months). I had written in my notebook at work, usually kept to make lists of things to do that day, that I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t keep going. I was starting to break, but I couldn’t show it because there was too much going on, both wonderful and horrible, that I needed to make it through, enjoying what I could.

Looking at the words today, I’m surprised by how broken I had felt. I don’t feel that way anymore; I feel as if I can take on the next big issue and work through it without falling to pieces over something as simple as an e-mail (which had happened in the last couple months). I definitely know that all of that stress wasn’t healthy for me, that some of the food choices I made in the quick minute I had weren’t the best, that skipping a de-stressing routine wasn’t doing me any favours. And, of course, that only added to my stress.

So, where does self-care come in through all of this? It does, and it doesn’t. I didn’t do as much yoga (really, barely any), I didn’t meditate as much as I should have, I didn’t spend mornings or evenings reading on the deck, enjoying those beautiful sunsets I love so much. But, I did sneak in 5-10 minutes on the dock, just listening to nature and letting my feelings be heard and start to work themselves out, unraveling the little balls of stress my brain was storing.

I stretched out my neck and did a sun salutation or two, resulting in a 3 minute yoga session. Not 30 minutes or an hour, like normal. I put on a face mask and read for 30 minutes before bed at the start of my most hectic weekend, carving out just that small amount of time specifically for a minute of solitude and comfort. I wrote down my stress and my feelings while at work to keep myself going. It wasn’t the ‘normal’ self-care that everyone talks about.

The hours, or days, that I must take to self-actualize and regenerate. It was 2 minutes here, 5 minutes there, 30 seconds on some days. It was catching my breath to ensure that I could keep working on the tasks at hand. It was the idea that, eventually, everything would right itself – it had to – and that the little stresses barely registered. I used what little time I had to sneak in sessions to just breathe and right my brain.

While the stress and schedule isn’t feasible in the long term, I now know that I can get through insanely busy and stressful times by sneaking in time for myself, even if it’s not as long as it normally is. And, because I finally have one, an extra session with my therapist. The ultimate self-care.

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Life

Social Media Led me to a Breakdown and it’s All my Fault

Photo by Prateek Katyal on Pexels.com

By nature I’m a really angry person. Lots of things set me off, some of them big, a lot of them small. I’m a big believer in the ‘no worries and move on’ type of attitude, only if it doesn’t fuck with my plans. I’m basically an old man, swinging his fist at youths who dared to step onto my lawn. But in better clothes.

Often, my angry stems from the massive amounts of anxiety I have every day. Luckily, I’ve a great therapist to help me with this. I’m often trying to get my anxious thoughts under control, I’m trying to throw logic at my obsessive and obtrusive thoughts, which usually means I’ve little patience for anything to go wrong.

Usually, I can tamp that anger down, only snapping at those closest to me. The ones I can easily apologize to and explain why I’m so angry. The ones who will forgive me much more easily than anyone else. You know, how we all do. Like the assholes we are. A few weeks ago I couldn’t keep it in. I could barely handle everyday tasks, as any fuck up made my blood pressure spike.

As an educated perfectionist who is judgey as all fuck and too hard on herself, I can’t stand stupidity. Not stupidity in that someone just hasn’t learned something yet, or is taking a while to understand something. There is nothing wrong with trying to educate yourself or trying in life. Those people do not make me angry, they make me hopeful for the future.

I’m talking about the kind of stupidity that makes you question how humanity got so far in life. The type of stupidity exercised by the ‘Karen’s’ of the world. Of the ones who read headlines and form an opinion, screaming it into the internet world at the top of their lungs. Of the stupidity that comes from total ignorance in everything around you.

I’ve done some stupid things in life, and I’m sure I’ve been ignorant a time or two (or 10 or 50). The difference is that I don’t comment in hate-filled tones, degrading anyone around me. I leave that to my brain to whisper to myself, or confiding in my friends and let them tell me I’m being ridiculous or need to take a step back and re-evaluate. That’s the thing about growing up before the internet: I know how to not use it just for hate.

I’ve long been a comment reader on social media. Whenever I see a juicy headline, I excitedly read through the article, knowing of the fresh hell that will await me in the comments section. I can’t wait to open those gates to Hades and see what all the idiots out there have to say.

To say that gleeful obsession with ignorant and hurtful comments isn’t healthy is an understatement. I understand that I shouldn’t care, that I should move on with my own opinions, perhaps writing about them in a well-researched article, or at the very least, an article that isn’t riddled with such anger it muddles my vision and logic.

The last few months* have proven how awful humanity can be. It’s also proven how wonderful it is. Unfortunately, the awful part sticks out far more than the wonderful. Like everything else in my life, my brain started to obsess on these haters, these trolls, these douches. I needed to read their comments, follow their journey, watch as others easily took them down with eloquent wording and *gasp* facts and logic.

I got too far into it, reading too many comments, reading too much fear and anger and hatred out there. My brain started needing more while feeling like it couldn’t take on another grain of stupidity. I found myself angry at everything. I found myself wondering why humanity existed, why any of us should continue to live. I found myself wondering if life was worth it in the grand ol’ scheme of things, if this was what life was like.

Though not suicidal, the thoughts were dark enough to snap me into reality. Because, living for the comments section — even if only to see a troll being taken down — isn’t reality. It’s fucked up nonsense that we, as an entire society, have begun to obsess over.

I couldn’t handle reading anything, anymore. I didn’t want to talk to friends in case I became irrationally angry. I looked for therapists to help me with my anger, yet had to wait for far too long to find one. I had broken down because of social media. Not only did that make me angry, but it made me sad. There wasn’t any reasoning for it. It was something that could easily be controlled in my life, that I didn’t have to look at, but was obsessively scrolling through.

The simple thing to do would be to just stop reading. Stop reading the news. Stop reading the comments. Take a little break. Which I did. I am a BIG fan of a news cleanse every so often. But, when you’ve already lost faith in humanity it’s hard to crawl back to the surface, to the light.

I’ve stopped engaging in social media or looking at the comments on news outlets. I slip up a time or two, my hands getting jittery when I read an exceptional piece from one of my favourite news outlets. But, I’ve learned my lesson. Nothing good can come of it and life isn’t a comments section, filled with hateful people. Rarely, are facts or reasoning found there. The poison is out there, bolded and in italics, because they’re louder than the rest.

I’ve learned my lesson that some people can be the absolute worst, but that I don’t need them in my life. Of course I’m still angry at stupidity, but in a much more sensible way. Now, when something infuriating happens, my brain doesn’t feel like it’s about to explode. I can take a breath and look at whether it really matters in the grand scheme of things, or if it’s just time to smile and move on.

*Fun fact: I wrote this a while ago. Turns out, humanity just keeps getting more and more awful as we revert back to the ‘good old days’ of absolute terror and awfulness.

Categories
Life Mom Life

Toxic Motivation is Running Some of us Into Complete Exhaustion

Photo by Tara Winstead on Pexels.com

Why do some of us think we need to work ourselves into total physical sickness?

Hello, I’m some of us.

I don’t know if this weird work ethic was distilled in me during my youth, or if it’s something I’ve picked up throughout my life, and much more during the social media age, when I’ve realized that I’m a woman and am supposed to do it all.

Guess what?

You can’t do it all.

It just isn’t possible.

As a mom, the expectations have changed and not for the better. I’m supposed to work, take care of my child like I do not work, have a perfectly cleaned home, get 8 hours of perfect sleep, do not screw up raising my child in any slight way, do not watch too much TV or have too much screen time (Ditto for child, of course), have a beautiful body that requires time spent at the gym and eating wonderfully crafted healthy meals, look my best and do a 48 step skincare regime, be constantly updated on world affairs and politics, meditate and not become stressed, learn new languages or crafts, go to therapy and make sure my brain is just as perfect as my body, family, and home.

Add in the fact that I’m a stay at home mom who only works through writing a few hours a week and I have to be constantly in tune with my child, doing amazing things with her nonstop AND my house needs to be perfect. Because I’m at home, so why shouldn’t it be? With a toddler also at home. It just makes sense. Sory if that sarasm hit you too hard in the face.

Funny how my husband doesn’t need to do all of the above just to be a ‘good dad’ or a ‘good person’.

Something’s gotta give, and every day it’s different. But, still, the idea that I have to be doing it all is crushing.

The other day, I wrote down everything that I was doing. A lot included chores and day-to-day living, but there was also a hefty amount of work on there as I’m readying a large project. I thought about when I was in an office, working diligently at a desk, laughing with emplyees, and taking an hour long lunch break, daily. I broke out everything I was doing into how long it would take me at an office, and what would be an appropriate time-frame to complete everything.

Turns out, I was trying to cram in an entire two weeks worth of work in one day. No wonder I was feeling like a failure and like the weight of everything on my list was crushing me. Talking with my friend, she also mentioned how she feels the same way. She doesn’t get enough done in the day, yet she’s doing a perfectly acceptable amount of work if she was sitting in an office.

So, why do we feel this way? Why do we feel like we need to continuously be working, that we shouldn’t take any down time, even though we know that it’s good for us. Obviously, the pressure of trying to do it all is one of the biggest factors. The toxic motivation that we throw onto every situation is another one. That quote that Beyoncé has the same amount of hours in a day as you? It can get stuffed.

Yes, Beyoncé does have 24 hours in the day, but it is not the same 24 hours that you, or me, have. At least, not if you’re the average person. I could get so much done if I had a driver, a nanny, a chef, a maid, a personal trainer, a personal shopper and stylist, and an assistant. I’m making assumptions as to who she has on her payroll, but if I’ve learned anything from years of watching the Kardashians it’s that those with money have almost, if not every, single one of the above. Also, if I had the money, why wouldn’t I outsource a bunch of my daily tasks so I could focus on myself, my family, and my most important projects?

When I was working in real estate, I had a raging migraine, but still needed to finish a deal. My parents drove me around that day and the amount of work I got done on my phone was astounding. That is barely a fraction of the help that celebrities have, and yet we’re constantly comparing ourselves to them, thinking we have the same 24 hours in a day as they do.

The fact that I experience burn-out once a week is not healthy, and not something I wish to keep achieving. So, I’m trying for a little different of an approach to living life, especially that as a woman. I cannot be a career woman AND spend a ton of time with my child. I cannot have a perfectly clean house constantly AND have down time for myself. I cannot have a gym-influenced body AND get the million little things I need to do done. I cannot always provide perfectly healthy meals AND keep on a budget.

And, all of that is perfectly okay. I can’t do it all. I don’t know who can. At least, not without help. Life is a sliding scale. There was a time where my house was wonderfully clean and expertly decorated. There was a time when I worked 80 hours a week and was happy with that. There was a time where I didn’t listen to my body and ended up in the hospital with severe pain, brought on by bought after bought of stress.

We need to stop telling women, stop telling everyone, that we can have it all. Because we can’t. Not all at once, not every single day. Breaks are okay, hell, they’re encouraged. Who ever said you need to be wildly successful before 35?

Find your timeline and work with it. Slide that scale whenever needed and tweak your life until it’s what works for you, not some motivational influencer you found on social media. Because, we all do not have the same 24 hours in a day.

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Life

The Silent Pain of Living with Chronic Pain

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I can’t really remember a time in my life when waking up with searing pain above my eye, or a throbbing so deep that I assume my brain will explode with the my next heartbeat wasn’t normal.

I know that I didn’t have migraines when I was a child, that they came upon me when I became a teenager, when hormones were thrown into the mix of my body, but it feels like this pain has always been there, always been on the back of my mind. And, you know what? It’s starting to wear me the fuck down.

My migraines started in high school, but were very episodic. No big deal, I could pop some Advil and away I went to school or my job. Soon, Advil wasn’t cutting it, though, and naproxen came onto the scene. I loved naproxen and it seemed like the best solution for my pain. However, it didn’t last long. I’ve had a long road of different pain relievers, all working at one time, but never really hitting the pain every time, or for the long-haul. I now know this to be normal for most everyone, but it is one of the most annoying parts of finding something that works only to find out it only works sometimes. Cue the start of fatigue of finding treatments.

Years went by and the migraines only got worse. They went from episodic to chronic, and it was normal for me to have 11-15 migraines a month. I was in pain every single weekend, when my stress let down, causing a migraine, grabbing for pain killers that only sometimes worked. I’d go to my job, feeling like absolute garbage, like my brain was going to explode, as I had already taken two sick days that month. Luckily, I never had a job where anyone counted sick days – if you were sick, then why were you at work? was the thought process.

It took one horrible migraine day where my co-worker brought me to the hospital, one nurse who asked if I took any preventatives (a preventative? I didn’t even know there were such options. I was still riding that naproxen wave), to get me to see a neurologist.

Sure, things got a little better in the migraine department, I went down to two migraine days a month with preventatives, vitamins, and cutting out alcohol and some foods. But by then, the damage had already been done. I was stressed, anxious of when my next attack would occur. I couldn’t work out, something I had loved to do. I had to stop boxing, had to stop any intense physical activity. I could barely go for walks without feeling like I’d get an attack.

I ended up feeling so nervous not to be stressed, that I was making myself stressed. I had a rigid bedtime routine, I had to sleep a specific amount of hours, I could only eat certain foods, I couldn’t have any alcohol, my stomach could barely handle pain killers as I had ripped it to shreds with uncoated naproxen throughout all those years. I worried about my job wanting to fire me (something I know had come up in a previous job, though that work-life balance was very toxic) because I had migraines. I had to quit a previous job I loved due to the stress that exacerbated my migraines.

It was only the beginning of what I would have to change in my life because of these stupid things that came and went as they pleased, wreaking absolute havoc along the way. I didn’t yet know that it would get worse, that the anxiety surrounding my chronic pain would ratchet up to new heights, that I would start to feel hopeless in ever feeling normal, again.

Recently, I went to a bachelorette weekend, armed with everything I usually do in a normal day: I had my acupressure mat, my vitamins, my ginger tea, I was going to bed later than usual, but at a still appropriate time. I brought a fan in case I got too hot in the cabin, which – thankfully – had A/C. It was a bougie place, my friends. I had three sips of wine during the fun wine tasting that was put on, knowing that if I imbibed a little more than that I could end up with a migraine. I ate cherries, having my healthy snack before bed. And yet…I still woke up with one.

The next morning, I quietly sobbed as I realized that I wouldn’t be able to enjoy the weekend, that my pain was going to be there all day and not be a quick fix with any drug, that I’d probably end up with one the next day, as well. I packed up my things, trying my best not to wake anyone while I alternated between vomiting and sobbing. I wasn’t upset that I was missing out on the fun, at least, that wasn’t what was giving me these feelings of dread. It was the fact that I couldn’t do anything, anymore, without an impending attack.

I cried while my friend held me, telling her I just wanted to be normal, that I couldn’t do anything, that I couldn’t just have a day, or a night, or a weekend, where my pain was looming, waiting to attack. She told me that my body was being an asshole and had let me down. And, it was true.

My body, something I had my normal doubts about regarding how it looked (or, rather, how magazines said it should look), but still felt very comfortable in and loved. My body that got me through pregnancy and birthed my daughter, showing me just what it can really do. My body, once so strong and lean, ravaged by a neurological disorder, a silent pain that people believe to be ‘just a headache’.

My migraines may not be chronic anymore, they may be only 3-5 a month, but the silent pain is still chronic. The anxiety over wondering if I will get an attack on an airplane, again, or if I will miss out on days while I travel. If I will be able to make plans, or if I’ll have to cancel them. The plans that I have missed, both not important and very. The days that I miss in my daughter’s life because I am unable to take care of her.

The pain isn’t chronic, but the damage has been done. I no longer feel like I can do properly live my life, not how I would like to, not in any way that is considered ‘normal’ (see: waking up without pain being a normal thing). The exhaustion of trying different treatments, the money spent, with nothing truly working as well as it should, is heavy. Thinking outside the box, thinking inside the box, feeling as if it’s futile to even try.

I know I’m not alone in this feeling as there is a huge migraine community out there, and many more who suffer from some sort of debilitating disease or disorder that feel the same as I do. I know that we all need to tweak our lives so we can live them to the best of our ability, to be happy, but also so that we don’t aggravate whatever it is that is ailing us.

But, damn, this silent pain that anyone with chronic pain goes through is exhausting. Perhaps one day I won’t feel the constant pressure and anxiety coursing through my veins, and that gives me the little hope I need to just keep trying.

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opinions

Can I Work in a Social Media Age?

Photo by Kerde Severin on Pexels.com

I don’t think I can be the type of person that Instagram needs you to be.

I don’t like reels. I honestly do not enjoy videos and would rather read, or look at static images.

I don’t make any stories.

I have no schtick.

It’s just me. Take it or leave it.

It’s why, though I made up a handle for this blog because, you know, marketing and all that jazz, I have yet to post. I don’t want to taint who I am, what this blog is all about. I don’t want to stress over the perfect photo for Instagram (even though it seems very rare that people actually post real photos anymore…the whole thing I absolutely loved about Instagram) and what great marketing campaign I should use.

I don’t want to end up worrying about posting the right stuff and falling down the rabbit hole of listicles and the like. There’s nothing wrong with listicles; I actually enjoyed writing a few of them. You’ll find some type of listicle-styled posts here every so often because easily broken down information is fun, and at times, feels right. But, I don’t want it to be the only thing this blog is about. Social media and click-bait titles.

Perhaps it’s not the best way of thinking when you want to make money from your craft, and who doesn’t want to make a little something something from what they love to do? But, when you need to be true to yourself, to your vision, it makes it a little harder.

I’ll end up posting on Instagram soon, I know. As soon as my flowers start blooming and the world looks shiny and new, again, I’ll get excited and feel the need to share what I see with the world. Who knows what that will look like, but I’m trying my bestest not to worry about it. Everything about this blog is focused on intuition. I may not have posts about it now, but intuition is my favourite piece of advice for everyone. Go with your gut and all that.

Besides, you can always, like Ross says, pivot.

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opinions

The World Feels like it’s Spinning out of Control

Photo by Nataliya Vaitkevich on Pexels.com

I never used to be this scared. This anxious. I used to go head first into things, thinking I was invincible, that I could do absolutely anything if I just put my mind to it. I’ve lost that, and while some of it is my own fault, I’m going to selfishly put the blame on the entire world.

This world that we live in feels so absolutely chaotic I sometimes wonder how we will survive another day. Gas prices, food prices, housing, it’s all going up, up, up, while wages stay stagnant or they rise slightly and then inflation sets in, resulting in zero progress.

The threat of nuclear war is, once again, on our doorsteps as Putin unravels a little more every day, desperate to win a war that — almost — everyone is aghast he started in the first place.

A pandemic ripped through the entire world, bringing the economy and everyone to their knees. We found out just how reliant we are on certain countries to keep us in our Amazon orders. We found out that some people will believe absolutely anything if it’s spewed on Facebook or Instagram. We also found out how strong science can be. Sometimes, the spinning leads to some good things.

More shootings happened in America, and will obviously continue to happen as everyone clutches their guns tightly to their chests, screaming of ‘freedom’ as they bury children who didn’t deserve a single one of these horrific moments.

Still in America, women’s rights are being taken away at alarming rates. The most ‘free’ country in the world always felt constricting to me, but now it’s reverted back to times most of us have only read about in history books.

We learned, or re-learned, of a dark, dark past with the Canadian government and Indigenous children. Some schools seemed to have taught it (I remember this from elementary/middle school social studies), while others buried the history.

Every day a new poison comes to light. This will kill you, now. That will kill you, now. Check everything vintage for lead, but also don’t buy new stuff. Plastic will drown us all, vegetarian is the way to go, but also an environmentally friendly diet that includes meat is great, but don’t forget a new kind of milk, but it takes more water to make, but try the vegan butter, but it contains palm oil.

Our weather is turning on us, creating horrible disasters that are the norm. After two years of intense drought in my region, I second-guessed vacationing in France this year as they experience horrible drought conditions. The fact that this is the new normal kept my plane ticket active. I’ve also gotten pretty good at water conservation, so I guess that’s helpful when another person is selfishly added to a country.

All of this is happening, and we’re becoming desensitized to it all. Just like the start of the pandemic, which had me in tears as I read about people dying in Italy, and yet if you fast forward to only a few months later, seeing that only 10 people died of covid in my province didn’t seem so bad.

Yes, while I’ve listed a complete shitshow above, a lot of horrible things have happened throughout time. We really don’t need to look very far, it’s happened time and time again, and will clearly keep happening because humans are the most destructive animal on this planet. My father-in-law remembers having to duck and cover under his desk due to nuclear threats. We’ve seen many wars in the past 150 years. We’ve seen the Depression. We’ve seen times where women didn’t have the right to vote or own land or do anything. We’ve seen more than one pandemic. This is not new, and yet, it feels so powerfully heavy. Social media and constant news may be the culprits of this as we are constantly connected and aware of what is happening, and, yet, something feels different. It feels more ominous as time goes on. The future hasn’t looked bright in a long time, and some of that may be on my own outlook, my pessimism, and my anxiety. But, a lot has to do with yet another round of history repeating itself and one too many revolutions needing to be fought.

I’ve no easy answers to all of this, as there rarely is one to encompass everything, but we need to do better. As humanity, as a community, as the world. What other animal destroys their own happiness and their own home so easily, so readily? We need to grow up, look in the mirror, and wonder if this is really what we want our lives to look at. Because I’m sick of feeling scared of the future, scared of my daughter’s future. The future should always contain hope, always look bright, even if that light is barely peaking through.