Handle Yourself with Care

Last March, I was a productivity machine. When we started to quarantine, I found peace in work. I sat at my computer for hours. Creating, sharing, making, connecting. Like a strong cup of coffee early in the morning, my work fueled and comforted me.

I knew it was my reaction. A way to cope. I tried to pace myself, but there was part of me that wanted to ride the wave. A tiny upside to the landslide that was happening all around me.

Like everyone else, I grew tired and weary. I hit my limit many times. Eyes glazing over during Zoom calls. Random pangs of nostalgia stopping me in my tracks. Longing for shopping malls and movie theaters. Missing family gatherings and synchronous moments of bumping into friends at coffee shops.

The start of 2021 brought a promise of relief. An ending. A beginning. Fresh clay to mold. But that didn't last long. As a collective, we've already dealt with so much this year. I hesitate to point out that it's only February 22.

A friend told me recently that February is the August of summer, meaning that it's long and tiring. The weather wears you down and even though a new season is approaching, holding onto hope is hard. I replied and told her that in Austin, February is Spring and October is the end of our summer. We laughed at the differences between our climates.

I'm looking at that exchange with fresh eyes now. It's 73° outside, but last week was the worst winter storm Austin has seen in ages. It left many without power or water for days. The storm would've been manageable in a place like Ohio. A lot of states have the infrastructure for freezing temperatures and snow. In Texas, our homes are made to stay cool, not warm. We are more prepared for 100 days over 100° than we are for a few inches of snow.

A neighbor told us he was without power for 78 hours. We live only a few houses down and all we lost was hot water. Somehow we escaped the worst conditions. And yet, today I am frayed and exhausted. My system is shot. I'm tired and tender.

Unlike my response to the chaos and confusion last March, I'm not feeling a pull to productivity. Instead, I am being called to rest, recover, and recalibrate.

I read recently that it is our nervous system that decides if we experienced trauma, not our logical mind. I am not sure if that's true, but I'm willing to accept it. It feels like I've been holding my breath for a week. Wondering and waiting. Unsure if I'm prepared, but trying to steady myself for what might happen next.

I know everything is okay. It is. Every moment and every season passes with new lessons, new places to heal, and new magic to discover.

That will all come in time. For now I'm holding myself gently. With deep breaths and every possible comfort I can gather. Walks in sunshine. Warm showers. Clean sheets. Cups and cups and cups of tea.

Meditation, journaling. Talking with friends. Connecting to my intuition. Guiding myself with permission. Leading with patience. Holding so much compassion. Handling myself with care.