I seem to be averaging one day a week when I struggle to do basically anything. I feel as though I can plow through all my caregiver responsibilities all through the other days and the weekends (still not restful for us, yet), but it all catches up with me about one day in seven. Today has been that day.
I move at the speed of a sloth. I am as motivated and energized as a tranquilized bear. I have the aesthetic of a hermit. The thought of human interaction exhausts me. I can wade through laundry and cleaning the kitchen. I can slog through calls to doctor’s offices and the school nurse. But beyond that, I’m somewhat vegetative.
It doesn’t help that it’s a wet, grey day and I am putting off all the grading I have to do.
I wonder if this is part of the cyclical nature of enduring care-giving. It is an ongoing responsibility. Even with helps and supports, it is ongoing. And when the helps and supports get sick or have car trouble or take time off, the entire weight falls right back on us. When I sit and ponder on the endlessness of this, I get weary, and a little hopeless.
But if I acknowledge the sadness and the weariness, keeping my focus on just today, I can keep the spiraling thoughts away, for the most part. If I give myself permission to have a low-energy, blue kind of a day, I seem to recover. After approximately 24 hours.
Then I wake up the next day and get back at it.
Perhaps this seems like an odd thing to write about. Who talks about their lounge-wear/stormy/blah days? Well, I guess I do. I felt for a long time that these days were a sign of weakness. Now I see them as necessary. Perhaps not one in seven, but at least periodically.
Days like today make me glad I’m not a TV or radio personality whose job includes perpetual cheeriness. I can’t fake bubbly.