Behind The Eight Ball

It started back in August,

The transition from delivery driving to tutoring,

Too many emails back and forth,

Not enough time to make deliveries,

Three-week delay until my first tutoring paycheck.

I’m behind the eight ball

 

End of September,

Busy with tutoring,

Lots of balls moving around,

So stressed trying to keep things straight,

That I made a mistake.

I’m still behind the eight ball

 

Winter break,

No kids to tutor,

People are cooking instead of ordering,

No quarantines,

Less deliveries,

The balls stop moving.

I’m stuck behind the eight ball

 

Second semester,

The schedule is nearly full,

But I’m playing catch up,

I love this job, and I am good at it,

I just don’t have enough students,

To stay afloat,

The balls are moving, but not a single tap.

I’m stuck behind the eight ball

 

Spring Break,

Another slow week,

Trying to brainstorm another plan,

To replace delivery driving,

Every option is beyond my abilities,

The stress and anxiety builds,

Whoops, another mistake,

A ball rolls by without a touch.

I’m stuck behind the eight ball

 

The year is almost over,

An unexpected problem,

I’m not prepared for this,

My head is swirling in worry,

About what else could happen,

The balls have disappeared.

I’m stuck behind the eight ball

 

Looking at summer,

My mental health is a mess,

I’ve fallen behind on everything,

I need to take time to heal, to prepare for fall,

When the need for tutors will grow,

But first I have to find the other balls.

Because I’m still stuck behind the eight ball

 

And I can’t seem to break free.

Welcome to my World

Who had “global pandemic” on their predictions for 2020? 

*crickets*

Yeah, me, too.  As I followed the pandemic from Wuhan, China to my home turf, it has been the world of science fiction authors and dystopian fatalists.  The entire world captured by a tiny ball of protein.  People afraid to leave their homes without face masks and gloves.  Hand sanitizer flying off the shelves.  Radio shows discussing how to decontaminate their groceries and themselves.

Surreal, right?  Well for me, it’s just Tuesday.  Or Wednesday.  Or every day.

My life revolves around elaborate decontamination rituals, making sure that I do not get infected by the bug du jour.  Washing my hands to the point of cracked skin is an every day routine, as are multiple showers a day and constant laundry.  Touch is something I often fear, as it might contaminate me with dirt and germs, to the point where an innocent brush of a door handle or a coffee cup has me rushing to the bathroom to wash my hands.  Sound familiar?

The difference is that I have a diagnosis—obsessive-compulsive disorder—that generates my fear and anxiety.  In “normal” times, I’m considered an outlier, having an unrealistic worldview, unable to sit still until every germ and bug is vanquished, a “germophobe.”  It’s a world where half my energy every day goes to washing and decontaminating and figuring out how to keep people outside my personal bubble, all in an effort to “keep calm and carry on” with a normal life. 

Then a novel coronavirus jumps from a bat to a human, and we’re wearing gloves and sanitizing door handles and wiping down our groceries before we put them in the car.  We’re discussing if uv light can decontaminate, if our mail could make us sick.  Stickers and tape dot the floors at the stores that are open, reminding us to stay six feet apart, as public service announcements blare over the loudspeakers, reminding us to wash our hands.

The fear and anxiety is real.  Something that we cannot see, hear, taste, smell, nor touch has killed more people in New York City than on 9/11.  People are dying by the thousands in Europe every day.  Hospitals fill with patients, unable to breathe.  Others raging with fevers and cough in their homes.  Even after 100 years of scientific discovery and Kuhnian paradigm shifts, the human race is once again brought to their knees by a tiny little virus.

I was asked recently how the pandemic affected me, and I replied that my life hadn’t changed all that much because I was already doing the handwashing and the decontamination and the distancing and the sanitizing.  The difference, actually, was that everyone else was doing it, too.  It’s like everyone is looking at the world through my eyes and acting accordingly, stressed and scared about something that is hard to show really exists.

In this dystopian society, I have found utopia.

Except that I’m out of disinfecting wipes and hand sanitizer.

Welcoming in the Roaring 20s (and Mine Will Roar)

It’s been a year.  Well, it’s been a decade.  It’s hard to believe that when 2010 started, I was so looking forward to a precisely planned, perfect future.  That January, I attended a primary candidate forum….and everything changed.  It’s been a difficult journey, one that is hard to regret taking, but I’m still here, looking at 2020, and trying to figure out a new future.

Planning, planning, planning...for a fabulous future.

We’ve all had that moment when the rug was pulled out from under us.  For me, it was Labor Day, 2011, when the man I wanted to marry….told me our relationship was over.  It broke me, but looking back on it now, it led me to so much more.  The resulting depression led me to a therapist, which led me to understanding why my brain was wired the way it was, which led me to realize that how I was living my life wasn’t in synch with my brain wiring.

However, there was an even bigger revelation.  My mother, trying to maintain order in her own head, emotionally abused me.  It’s interesting, really, how a child sees their reality as “normal,” until they hit a point where they see there are other realities.  For me, it was working with a therapist who pointed out the times my mother, with her endless controlling behavior, crossed the line from being helpful to hurtful.  And hurtful she was.  Not only did I believe that her depiction of me was true, it had made me passive and controllable, which literally ate me up inside.  It’s her words, not mine, that I’ve said to myself in the mirror all these years. 

Due to both nature and nurture, my brain processes things differently than most people, but I’ve spent the last 45 years trying to fit my brain into a “normal” mold.  It hasn’t worked well, leaving me exhausted, frustrated, and feeling like a failure.  Now that I understand all of this, I can spend the 20s creating a life that fits me and my brain, then helping others do the same.  It seems so counter-intuitive that a country whose founding principles are all about accepting and tolerating differences…has so many people suffering from anxiety and depression because they feel too different.  Perhaps I can do something about that, but I can’t from where I am now.

I see where I want to be by 2029, but I am starting at the bottom of the mountain.  This year, my goal is to build a solid foundation from which I can tackle harder things.  It means creating financial security and stability.  It means retooling my house to be a place of relaxation and comfort.  It means cleaning out all the survival anxieties that cloud my decisions and sap my energy.  It means missing the run club’s annual run to Lake Michigan to instead hustle for income.  It means walking away from all the things I do to escape from the challenges and instead face them head-on.  It means working hard towards my goals, even when it’s not easy.

2020 is probably going to be my most challenging year, but I have all the support and resources I need to come out of it successful.  It’s time to make my 20s roar.

You Never Will Know the Demons You Create, So Just Be Kind

DISCLAIMER:  This blog is, and never will be, a political blog.  However, I spent eight years working in politics, seeing the good, the bad, and the ugly of this country.  The experience taught me so much about myself and my universe that at times, I cannot help but speak about it.  Just don’t interpret my story as a political manifesto.  It’s really just my life and my voice.

I have to get something off my chest.  Or my back.  Or draining on my soul.

I went onto Twitter on Friday to write a post, and found that #ByeByeElyse is now trending.  Apparently, Rep. Elise Stefanik, a Republican from New York and ranked as the 19^th most bipartisan Member of Congress, did something so awful that she should be burned on the stake or something.  I could not imagine what could be causing such a vitriolic response.  Except maybe those impeachment hearings….

To be honest, I’ve been ignoring the impeachment hearings.  I’m burnt out.  With eight years of eating, sleeping, breathing, and living in the political world, our current political climate is beyond stressful.  It’s toxic.

I started as a Congressional staffer for a Republican member of the House.  Politics had been an interest of mine since college, and while I was an armchair junkie, I never thought I’d have the resume or the talent for the work.  When the candidate I helped get elected asked me to join his staff, I was excited for the opportunity to help the people in the district, the people I had befriended over the months leading to the election.  You’d think it was glamorous and exciting, like The West Wing or House of Cards?  Not even close.

When you are a Congressional staffer, you have to answer the phone and calm down the angry callers.  When it is a Republican Member of Congress, the angry callers tend to be Democratic party voters who have seen your boss on TV or read a press release or worked for his/her opponent in the last election….or is supporting your boss’ opponent in the upcoming election.  Of course, the fact that they are calling a professional office with people who are just doing a job (beyond answering the phones, I was responsible for helping constituents struggling with their immigration and visa paperwork) is completely lost in the blinding rage, and the poor staffer is called a bunch of four letter words, told they should just kill themselves because they don’t deserve to be alive, or my favorite, told they couldn’t possibly be that stupid of a woman for supporting their boss.  Seriously, I didn’t realize what the c-word was….until I was called it over 1,000 times within six months.

The good news is that my boss wasn’t re-elected, so I didn’t have to face any more of that abuse.  But as I slowly healed from the mental and emotional damage from that experience, I continued to work in politics, being exposed to the occasional blog post or angry tweet that would just trigger me into a panic attack.  But instead of manifesting as severe fear, it manifested as anger.  Inside, I was a raging Tasmanian Devil, but I could not stoop to the angry mob’s level. 

You see, political work is a very public job.  Everything you do is seen as representative as your employer, whether it be an elected official, a candidate, or an organization.  Not only did I want to take the high road, personally, but anything I did could be recorded, screenshot, or otherwise documented.  And spread across social media.  So I kept silent, numbing my pain with marathon training and pinot grigio.

Then Donald Trump ran for President.  Up until this point, I had been dealing with hyper-partisan liberals, charged with emotions, but as the election (and Trump’s Twitter account) moved forward, the drumbeat of scared energy got louder and louder.  Then Trump won the election, and everything went off the rails.  The anger, the vitriol, the hatred, and the emotions were ratcheted so high that dissent, which exists in our country by design, was no longer tolerated.  Either you agreed with the people who thought Trump needs to go….or you were devil spawn.  No grey area.  No “nice” Republicans.  I mean, we’ve gotten so bad that Ellen DeGeneres was trolled for laughing with President George W. Bush at a football game.  Ellen DeGeneres, who is this sweet, kind, funny human, was trolled for being a sweet, kind, respectful human.

Not only was healing my wounds no longer possible, silencing my voice was causing other problems in my life.  I had become a shell of who I was before all of this started, both emotionally and physically.  I needed to make changes.  I needed to reprioritize my life.  And I needed to speak up instead of staying silent. 

Being obnoxious because you are fighting the good fight is not acceptable.  It’s not acceptable if you’re a Republican, and it’s not acceptable if you’re a Democrat.  Calling an office and using obscenities is not acceptable.  Cyberbullying someone who disagrees with you politically is not acceptable.  And most importantly, feeling that your horrible behavior is justified because of your beliefs is not acceptable.  As Ellen DeGeneres said, be kind. 

Seeing the anger towards Rep. Stefanik on Twitter was triggering, but instead of silencing myself, I took fingers to keyboard and purged some demons.  It’s time to tell our truths, listen to each other, find common ground, and appreciate our diversity.  Starting with myself.

Mind Games Part 2: Attitude Adjustment

Of course, just one recovery run isn’t enough to erase doubt and boredom.  The next Saturday, I missed the club run, so I had to go out later in the day to run. 

I do think the end of winter running season is the hardest time of year to get motivated.  You’re sick of the cold, sick of the ice, and sick of doing laundry of all those layers.  I decided to take the opportunity and run in an area I hadn’t been in a long while, to distract me from how much time this run was going to take.  It’s a town that has a plethora of bike trails connecting the subdivisions, and part of the fun is getting lost within the various backyard trails.  However, it was Easter Weekend, so my mind was wishing I was enjoying the fun of family and celebration rather than running.

The start didn’t bode well, as I ended up back near the start on the first trail and a dead end at the second.  Soon, I was at one of my favorite forest preserves and decided that running the trail around it, then heading back to the car, was good enough.

While doing that loop, I had an epiphany.  According to our club leader’s training plan, these long runs weren’t about logging miles as much as pushing them at a pace, something I wasn’t doing.  I decided right there and then that I needed to pick up the pace on the Saturday runs so that Sunday’s runs were true recovery, where I was going to be tired from Saturday’s effort. 

I picked up the pace and ran back to the car.  Of course, when I stopped my Strava, I noticed that it had paused about right when I started going faster.  Well my legs would remember what my phone neglected to record.  The important part, to pick up the pace and really work on mentally pushing myself, had happened.

What has surprised me, more than anything, is how much faster I am running just by having a positive attitude.  By keeping myself focused on the task at hand and having a can-do attitude has taken serious time off the clock.  (Of course, so has running all the miles I’ve been doing.)  I’m now thinking that anything is possible again.

Mind Games, Part 1

I’ve been running mile after mile after mile, but it doesn’t seem like I get any faster.  It’s what makes running—actually, any athletic endeavor—a challenge:  your mind.  Mine is more that my brain moves at the speed of light, but my feet struggle to do a mile under 10 minutes.  Long runs are both a constant stream of conscious and a constant feed of “I’m bored.  I’m so flipping bored.  How much longer do I have to be bored?”

Of late, I’m disappointed with my slow, slugglish pace when I upload my run.  It’s very discouraging when I’ve done so much speed work and run my recovery miles, yet rather than improve, I am still at 12+ min pace, rather than the 10:30 pace I’m trying to reach.  I don’t have a choice here; to qualify for Boston I have to be able to run a marathon near 9 min pace, and even if I’m wearing a charity bib, almost all the runners finish before five hours.

It’s always been a struggle to get motivated to do the longer runs of marathon training because they take hours, and then I’m spent all day.  Add in winter where I’m not running as much during the week, and I feel even slower.  I had started dreading the long run, the time, the boredom….and I wanted a distraction.  Of course, I’m the type of runner who when distracted, slows down even more.  Not helpful. Also not helpful…not having a big race on the horizon because there’s no PR for me to chase.  I needed a reboot, a way to push myself through, to maximize my limited time with mileage.

About a month ago, I started out on my Sunday recovery run, feeling sluggish and slow, tired and battling a headache.  While it was a recovery run, I did have a deadline:  the sunset.  My route would take me on trails that closed at sunset, 7:05 pm, so that was the cutoff.

After about a mile and a half, I hit a stoplight and checked my watch:  6:34 pm.  I thought about the route and guesstimated that I would really have to push myself to finish the trails in a half hour.

The trail coursed through the local high school’s athletic fields and then followed some power lines.  It seemed like I could not get out of the high school area, but as I turned onto the trail at the power lines, I could see the trail all the way to the golf course.  “Oh, that’s not so far,” I thought.  “Maybe I can do this.”  I coursed down the hill, and as I crested the hill by the golf course, I checked my watch again.  6:47 pm.  18 minutes is totally doable.

I ended up leaving the park at 6:58 pm, about seven minutes ahead of schedule.  My next deadline was to finish in under an hour, or 7:15 pm.  It was about two miles, so well under my usual pace.  I pushed onwards and hoped for the best.

As I made the last turn towards home, I was surprised again.  7:08 pm.   I had reached two goals I didn’t think possible on a day like today.  It’s amazing what happens when you make up your mind to do something…..

(to be continued)