Low Days

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.

  8 comments for “Low Days

  1. Stephanie Mullin
    February 22, 2017 at 5:09 pm

    I am glad you write for I relate to your words and feel not so alone in my life with dealing with my days of special need parenting. Thank you Megan! Xxoo

  2. Barb
    February 22, 2017 at 11:36 pm

    I have those days, too. You aren’t alone in it!

  3. February 23, 2017 at 5:02 am

    Oh, the endlessness of it. Those thoughts exhaust and sadden me to the core. I wish there were more real, tangible ways for us to ease one another’s burdens.

  4. Jennie
    March 1, 2017 at 2:34 pm

    Man I like you. Thanks for being so honest.

  5. MM
    March 9, 2017 at 7:13 pm

    I stumbled onto your blog, and it has brightened my grey day already. I have a 20 year old son who is a drug addict. I have often wondered ….not sure why, if it would be easier to have a special needs child. Would it be easier because the trials do not stem from dis-obedience or misuse of free agency? Would it be easier to raise a child with Autism or cognitive delay, or Cerebral Palsy or on and on? I think about this when I am desperate and telling God that I am SORRY, so sorry that I thought I could do this thing called parenthood.
    I don’t know what to do. He does not come home anymore, I don’t know who he is with or what he is doing or what is happening to him. I ponder on the failed attempts at rehab….. residential, intensive out patient, family intervention, scare tactics, crying, pleading, begging. Oh yes and calling the probation officer, if I could just get him to do his job better…..if I could just be a better informant. My son has been to jail twice and in the emergency room once from a drug related incident. I have spent the weekend in the hospital with him during “suicide watch” when a staff member was constantly in the room with him until he was discharged. Why? This can’t be what God had in mind for my beautiful chubby little baby boy. I can’t accept this and it is killing me.
    Thank-you for your insight, your humor, and your willingness to share. I just want to hide out most of the time. I was once an exercise enthusiast…but now I don’t seem to care about keeping my body fit and healthy. I care in my mind, but my actions don’t keep up. It feels like my happiness is so dependent on my son’s recovery and I don’t see any sign of change. I need to change.
    Wow, I am so pitiful and negative. I haven’t always felt this way. I miss my old self. I miss my sober son. I need God. I’m sure there is a lesson for me in all of this. My testimony is sterling, but I am struggling with life, the adversary, heartache and dissapointment. I live in fear of the dreaded phone call.
    I will continue to read your blog. I appreciate your insight and grit. Your boys are so blessed to have you.
    Sincerely, Melancholy Mom

    • Megan
      March 10, 2017 at 2:26 pm

      Dear MM,

      Thank you for telling me this. Thank you for reading. I’m so sorry. It’s all hard, isn’t it? But I think it’s customized to our needs and personalities. I don’t know that we chose it, but I believe we chose the outcome if we can persevere. Please keep in touch.

      xo,
      Megan

  6. Jen
    March 11, 2017 at 6:21 pm

    I ran across your blog while researching special needs teenagers and tantrums! It is one of those days I would love to stick my head in the sand or run away. Thank you for sharing and helping me see that I am not alone!

  7. Meghan
    April 18, 2017 at 5:50 pm

    I just discovered your blog through a link on Not the Former Things, and I’ve been reading through your older posts whenever I have time. I so relate to this feeling. I had one of those days today in fact, but I know I’ll get back on track tomorrow and start making the phone calls and scheduling the doctor’s appointments.

    Love your blog, thank you for writing it…reading the words of others walking the same path really helps.

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