Tears and self loathing

I don’t know about you, but some days, I wake up out of balance. With a heaviness in my heart that spreads to my bones. Or with an unnamable anxiety buzzing in my muscles. The cause, a mystery. Or perhaps I wake up with both. It doesn’t have to be a lot. Just a pinch. And I am off-kilter. And my job for the rest of the day, alongside the general task of living, is to reclaim the balance. To not fall off the tightrope.

This is something I have lived with all my life. I have come to accept that some days will be full of tears and self loathing. I used to try to get to the bottom of it. But that, I found, will often just make it worse. My initial logic is sound. Find what the cause is. Deal with whatever it is. Face it or fix it. And then you can get on with your day. Light and buzzing free. I would diligently give finding the cause all my focus. As much as my foggy and distracted mind would allow. But this merely compounds things. Makes the heaviness heavier. Turns the volume up on the anxiety (beyond what the speakers are built for).

So I have learnt to simply say to myself. It’s all right. Today, you must be tired. Or perhaps it is your hormones. There is a lot going on, which could be contributing to this. Or maybe, this is just how you are built. Today is what it is. After this little speech in my head to myself, I radically accept how I am feeling (or work towards this acceptance all day). I have found this helps. Rather than diving deeper into the spiral. I try to stand next to it, and let it do its thing. I don’t ignore it. No, no, no. That makes it worse. It can be relentless for attention. I acknowledge its existence and accept it will be around today. And make whatever necessary adjustments and allowances required to get through the day, together. And I have found, overtime, this softens the anxiety and lightens the heaviness a little.

There have been days, I drag myself out of bed, with what feels like I have had to draw on super hero powers simply to get my head off the pillow. And once moving, I slide my feet into the comfortable slippers of the victim. And the voice of the victim in my head, joins the sadness and anxiety, like a long lost friend. Why me? Why do I have to feel this way? Why wasn’t I born different? Why do other people get to be light and carefree any day of their choosing? The victim is without logic. Without perspective. Searching for blame. The heaviness becomes heavier. The anxiety increases. The spiral intensifies. The day gets harder. Once the victim has arrived, and sits at your table, you have a stubborn visitor. An unwelcome dinner guest. Who drinks all your wine. Eats all your chocolate. And ignores any hints it is time to leave. I find it helps to be aware, as best I can, of the arrival of the victim before their seat is taken at the table. When I can, I remind myself to look for the other slippers, invite in another guest, the creator. The creator doesn’t ask questions starting with why. The creator ask questions and gives suggestions starting with how. How do I want to show up today? How do I want to get through this?

Some days the anxiety seems to be demanding an answer. Dictating that I become the perfect sleuth. To tap into my inner Sherlock Holmes or Miss Marple. To solve the mystery. To find out what the hell is going on. And while anxiety is shouting orders. The heaviness decides this day is the perfect day to put on those victim slippers. There is no hope for acceptance today. Or noticing who has arrived, before they sit down and get comfortable at the table. There is just tears and self loathing. Sometimes deep down inside. Where no one can see them. Sometimes on the surface, threatening to show the world. And other times they are there for everyone to see. And experience.

Kindness. Movement. Breath.

This is the only way forward. The only way back.

We can be nasty to ourselves. Self critical. Disgusted. Kindness is the simple antidote to all three. Being kind to myself. Like I would be kind to others. It can lift the heaviness. It can shift the anxiety. Or it can just make them easier to be around. Kindness works on the days I am madly in love with myself. It works on the days I can’t stand myself. And it works every day in between. You simply cannot go wrong with showing yourself a little compassion. Being kind to yourself is not about self pity. Being gentle with yourself, is not about wrapping yourself up in cotton wool. It is about knowing what you need, in that moment. To get you through. It is about saying to yourself, what you would say to a friend in this position. Sometimes this includes giving yourself a gentle push to do something that you know is good for you. Sometimes it is about saying some firm words. Not nasty words. Firm words. There is a difference. Kindness is about listening and seeing without judgment. Acts of kindness, towards yourself, are always helpful.

Alongside showing a little kindness to myself, what is good for me on days of heaviness and buzzing worry, is to move. Particularly outside, in nature. And if the heaviness is such, that this seems like an impossible feat, beyond the courage I have available, then sitting and watching nature move just outside the window, is the next best thing. Watching birds come and go. The movement of the leaves as the world breathes. It helps. But a walk with the dog. A bike ride on my own, or with someone else. Works a treat. A bike ride in particular. Riding through the air just seems to blow the cobwebs out. Reminding me what it feels like to be alive. Softens the edges, inside and out. Opens my heart a little.

Breath is my best friend. A friend who is always there. Sometimes forgettable. Or taken for granted. Or made small. Remembering my best friend, my breath, can shift the most stubborn heaviness and settle the most relentless nervous energy. Big, deep breaths. Yin breathing. Making sure my exhale is longer than my inhale. Box breathing. Extending and noticing the pause in the breath, to be the same length as the in and out breath. Belly breathing. Imagining my belly is like a balloon. Filling it to its maximum capacity. The balloon expanding on the inhale. Drawing my navel towards my back body on the exhale. Circular breathing. Bringing the breath up one side of my body from my toes to the crown of my head as I inhale. Feeling the breath cascade down the other side of me as I exhale. Breathing is often the key. And it helps me open myself up to the world. To lift my head. Open my arms. And my body.

Start small. Being grateful.

If the day feels like an insurmountable mountain. I just sit and look at the day for a while. I start by breathing. And I do whatever comes next. And with each small step, I acknowledge what I have achieved with compassion. And with kind encouragement, I motivate myself to take the next step. However small it will be. I remember to be grateful for each and every step. This often leads to me thinking about other things to be grateful for. Writing down three things to be grateful for each day, regardless of how I feel, helps me.

Today I am grateful the heaviness of yesterday has lifted. And the volume of anxiety is a little lower. I am grateful for the small steps taken. The kindness I showed myself. For the bike ride and laughter with friends. Grateful there are no tears or self loathing today.