A Light in a Dark Place
The way out of here is dimly lit . . . but its a path I'm finally able to take.
A Note From ME To YOU:
This article discusses mental health, long COVID health, recovery, and what feels like a fork in the road for a post-pandemic America. If these topics are a bit much for you right now, head to my PAGES from The Prophet series posts for a much gentler experience. Take care, y’all. <3
Over a month ago I signed off on my last post thinking I would take the week to recharge in the fresh, mountain air of Cascade, CO. What I didn’t know was that I was on the tail-end of a closing period of ‘productivity’ in an almost year-long, upward stumble out of serious unwellness.
Had I known it would take me this long to recenter myself on something other than my health or varying crisis Flavor of the Week situations, I would have once again waded into the cold feeling of failure that so often accompanies my self-made letdowns.
In reality, I’ve used all my energy, focus, and light to get through this period of . . . intense darkness. But this part of my path is finally opening up. I’m climbing out of here damnit! — one, tender step at a time. Remember?
The arrival of long COVID health problems came at a time when I had found my passion for writing and joined with it my multi-tasking, administrative, and accounting skills. I was forming a name for myself on mic, on paper, on Kindle, and as a business owner. Things were looking up. On top of that, I had finally found my dream job at the dream place. I was busier by the week, but it all meant so much to me to have achieved and be able to keep going.
The dream job has been resigned from with an extremely heavy heart. Returning with a healthier mind is an ultimate To-Do that I desperately want to make a Ta-Da.
When my sharpness is back, I have to keep my mind busy. I have to engage it and really try. What better way to go about that than writing whatever I want, whenever I want, while taking all the time I need to recover?
So here I am, being fully transparent with those To-Do’s:
I ‘owe’ several posts to PAGES from The Prophet.
I need to research all of the wonderful happenings offered by Substack.
I need to write other pieces and explore extra tools that connect us more and serve people who struggle to read . . . like me. Notes? Audio with every post?
I need to form stronger connections with writers. These are my people. They don’t often have to know me to get me.
Suddenly, this growing “To-Do List” is much longer than my “Ta-Da List” and boy, was Bluma Zeigarnik right . . .
“Unfinished items that we’ve left hanging are like cognitive itches.”
Preach, Bluma.
I can’t find another, more accurate way to explain how long COVID life has impacted my outlook towards my own productivity (and lack thereof). When my cognition comes back, my brain might as well be covered in poison oak and wrapped in poison ivy, having stepped out of a freshly angered pile of fire ants.
The go-getter, driven, pre-COVID version of my brain can. not. handle. the long time lapse with no explanation of what’s been going on between moments of temporary enlightenment. I’m in one right now bringing this to you before it’s gone and I begin the “movement” half of my daily energy spend.
On ‘good cognition’ days I see the weight of what has now been almost nine months of a cognitive and nervous system minefield. I don’t know how I presented or interacted, if at all, through holidays, birthdays, our anniversary, Science Fair projects, and the day-to-day grind of navigating new-to-me disability while co-raising three pre/teens in what feels like a hellscaped America.
If my memory can’t serve me . . . if I can’t even find my To-Do List much less be kissed by serotonin as I move a pending “To-Do” to a completed “Ta-Da” . . .
how do I know if I’m actually ‘showing up’ or ‘invested’ in the remaining pillars of my life?
This is the thought that rose from the depths, smack in the middle of what was otherwise promising to be a peaceful and helpful meditation early this morning.
There I was, on my ‘sit bones’ in front of my bedroom window, listening to an overcast Texas spring morning in full bloom, deeply focused on breathing and just being present.
Then, like the Kool-Aid Man busting through the walls of my sedated mind, as all thought went to my temporarily sharpened cognition, I felt my senses return more than they have in the last several weeks. I didn’t even hesitate to affirm to myself —
I can finally get some things done around here!
My meditation then died on the vine. In an old-habit-turned-survival-skill, I grabbed a notebook and jotted some bolts of thought down. There! It worked!
Yet, no more than half an hour later, as I sat back down in the same spot to meditate, I saw the notebook, remembered I had already meditated today, and felt the floor go out beneath me.
It hadn’t worked for the day. Not even the moment.
I was once again enslaved to mastering tasks I set for myself without acknowledging that simply existing, being present, taking steps to complete at least a ten-minute meditation, not pressuring myself to do ALL THE THINGS! . . . that is the task.
I unraveled a bit (read: I closed the window and cried . . . hard. again. sigh.)
I let the last month of sensitive and uniquely difficult problems out of my body.
The stress on my joints and fatigue in my muscles lessened. I could regain control of my breathing. And though I am always dealing with at minimum, a mild case of “the spins”, I felt grounded after an unpleasant free-fall.
I said one more blessed ‘thank you’ to therapy and mental health care for the low-lit bumper rails they’ve established in my brain. There’s no going off into the darkness here! A little swerving is fine, but overall, this dimly lit path is already better than what lies out there in the darkness of my mind.
The Redirect
My productivity is not the driver of my happiness or success. (Say that out loud three times, please <3 )
Accomplishing your goals is certainly a wonderful and healthy aspiration, but right now I choose to lean into peace and joy, even if I have to nudge away my own demons like scuba divers redirecting open-mouthed sharks. I can redirect my dependency on needing to accomplish things as fulfillment and focus instead on staying calm and breathing in deep water. That is the goal.
If an experienced but albeit vulnerable diver can do that, I can certainly do this, whatever this is: be it resting, calling into LTD and begging for updates, parenting, wife-ing, friending, accepting short-term memory loss as the loose cannon it is, and reviving the parts of me that make me whole.
I’m okay with using my energy to pick up the marbles I’ve lost — as long as they’re in the light. And if they’ve rolled off forever into the darkness, I’m fine with that, too. If they ever roll on back, it’ll certainly be a “Ta-Da” moment.
There’s no sense in going where peace and joy can’t thrive just to fetch something that will roll off again, no matter what it meant to me.
My productivity is not the driver of my happiness or success. (Yes, we’re reading it again and saying it again <3 )
I don’t have to do so much to say I’ve done what matters.
And friends, neither do you.
A Promise
There have been a few times in the last week or so that I’ve really wanted to sit here and hammer out all the transgressions, resentments, anger, sorrow, and all-around hardship just to get it out of me; but thanks to my completely crap memory and a right-hand dominance that makes writing with janky nerves an extremely painful experience, I refused to use my energy that way. I didn’t want to see any of it again and have that be the recall.
If we’re choosing between ‘writings from the dark’ over ‘blank canvas’, I’m picking ‘blank canvas’ every time. No more writings from the dark. At least not while they can rise from the deep, with razor-sharp teeth exposed, black-eyed and hungry for blood.
Meditation is the redirect. I need to stick to that method.
I promise to stay on this well-lit path, no matter how dim the light may be.
I promise you, dear readers, to show up a bit more now that the dust from a tumultuous month has settled.
And though my goal is to shift my energy and time into the things that pour hope and love into my spirit, I promise not to spend every drop of effort I have into only those considered most ‘productive’.
I promise to let my body and brain’s needs set the schedule for the day, hour, half hour, minute . . .
My worth is not found in what I’ve done despite who I present as now.
My worth is found within me at all times.
My productivity is not the driver of my happiness or success.
(Third time’s the charm, right?)
An Ask from You, My Friends
If you are the praying kind, the meditative kind, the ‘peace and love and light’ kind, the hopeful kind, the ‘peace be with you’ kind, please send some of that my way.
We are so, so close to having a final answer on my LTD claim either being denied or approved and immediately paid out. While we’re constantly reminded of how fortunate we are despite our family’s situation, this process represents nine months of effort by not only me but my immediate and extended families who have filled in all kinds of gaps since last fall.
And let’s face it — I have paid physically, financially, emotionally, with my time, my best sanity, my worst confusion, and my fragile mind for these benefits.
It has been five months since STD paid out from mid-September through Dec 12th. I’m owed a significant portion of my salary from then to right now while billionaires are about to be granted yet another incredibly unjustifiable tax cut.
Because money gets what money wants.
The creme on this crappy crepe is that if LTD doesn’t approve my claim, justifying paying for COBRA insurance while appealing to them — like, how? — and all my future long COVID coverage goes out the window as a pre-existing condition for whoever picks me up, or for my husband’s insurance to discover and deny. (I have triple-checked this across several avenues. This is a rant I will save for a ‘uniquely American clusterf*cks’ series)
What I’m trying to say is, the trickle-down effect of this Millenial’s Reaganomic stress got the better of me, and when once-in-a-blood-red-moon issues arose throughout the last month, I really felt like my heart might just physically give out entirely, or perhaps my brain would liquefy if I had to make one more two-hour calling session for the sake of this household’s health and financial future.
So, if you’re still reading my best attempt to not sound bitter and are willing to share some of your own mind-over-matter powers with me and especially my husband, the blessed man who has been holding our house and family in his hands, please do.
We could use all the good vibes, angels, blessings, well wishes, and you-name-it’s at this very juncture . . .
It goes without saying but I’ll say it —
I couldn’t do any of this without you, or the endless love and support that has sustained my hope and health since September of last year.
I will be back soon, and when we meet again, there will hopefully be a little more light shed on this path forward.
And remember: My productivity is not the driver of my happiness or success.
Say it again.
For Love Poetry,
Tiffany