The voice in my head never takes a sick day

Does yours?

I crashed a few times this week. Properly. Fully. Face-down, on the floor, done. My body had made its decision. And the voice in my head? Didn’t even pause. Didn’t lower the volume. Didn’t get the memo.

It never does!

When I crash, there are two voices. They are equally loud. They are equally convinced they’re right. And they absolutely cannot stand each other.

One says: We have to get this done.

The other says: I cannot move.

It’s like watching someone play badminton without dropping the ball, for hours…

When we’re chronically ill, chronically exhausted, chronically anything, the crash is not the hard part. In fact, it is the noise inside the crash that keeps going, keeps listing, keeps guilting, and keeps calculating what this horizontal moment is costing you.

The unavoidable truth is that the to-do list is real. The people counting on you are real. The consequences of not doing the thing are real. My anxiety (get-it-done voice) is not inventing problems (yes, shocking!). This is the reality of having responsibilities, very low energy, and a body that is barely making it.

On the other hand, the can’t-move voice is not a drama queen. Pushing at that stage will cost something I don’t have. It’s just borrowing from tomorrow. And tomorrow is already overdrawn.

This is what nobody tells you about rest when you’re running on empty all the time:

It’s not restorative. It’s not peaceful.

Accidental wisdom

I read Murder Mindfully by Karsten Dusse yesterday. Yes, a thriller. Yes! Genuinely fabulous, and somehow also the most unexpected self-help book I’ve picked up in years. Buried inside it is this idea, simple enough to be annoying: When you’re fighting with your wife, fight with your wife. When you’re doing the dishes, do the dishes. Don’t fight with your wife while doing the dishes.

Be where you actually are.

And I’ve been thinking about that a lot all day. Somehow, I think it could help me break that cycle. Because when I’m lying on the bed, I’m lying on the bed. If my mind is already at the desk, at the list, at the thing I haven’t done, I might as well physically be there. I’m not actually resting.

We are so used to multitasking (and yes, we know it's not real, but we do it anyway) that we don't notice when it's actively working against us. I'm trying to practice something simpler: one thing at a time. Mindfulness.

But when I actually stay, when I let myself just be the person on the floor for a minute, something changes. I am less exhausted, which means I conserve energy. There’s less fighting the fact of it. And somehow, that costs less.

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