Today was a slow, rainy day. I woke up around 7, and I spent some time working on a new curriculum that we’ll be implementing in the fall. I’m trying to get a head start by modifying the assessments over the summer. I packed a lunch for my youngest (I know, I know… he’s too old for me to be doing that, but I haven’t given it up yet). I ran the carpet cleaner AGAIN, because this old dog can no longer hold her bladder.
And then I was stuck in the house for a little bit. Kyle ordered a new lizard (long story) and someone needed to be here to sign for it. So I promised him I’d hang around at home until his break at 11. I talked to a friend on the phone, I vacuumed, I read a little, I watched a little TV. All very low-key.
When Kyle got back, I left for an appointment and then stopped by the grocery store on my way home. I made some soup and a sandwich for lunch, and I cracked open my book again. I lit a candle. I’ve been re-watching The Bear, and I was planning to crochet and watch an episode or two. But then the cat climbed into my lap, and one episode turned into three, minus the crocheting because my girl insisted on a little love.
I had every intention of enjoying a relaxing afternoon. I tried to stay mindful and ‘in-the-moment.’ I listened to the purring cat and the sound of the rain and focused on the smell of my candle. I paid attention to my breathing.
Nevertheless, the anxiety crept in. It kept building. Why? Who knows. How can a person be anxious on summer vacation, petting a cat and watching TV? I don’t know how, but I know that I can.
It’s been a pattern for as long as I can remember. The anxiety and panic attacks don’t hit me in the thick of it. They don’t cripple me when things are hard. They hit at the most unexpected times. Like today. I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I couldn’t get a hold on it. Most of the time, I can breathe through it or snap myself out of it when I feel the anxiety building. I couldn’t do it today. I had to reach for a little chemical assistance.
The medication is prescribed by my doctor for occasional use. I just find it odd that I got through the months of May and June without needing it… and couldn’t get a handle on myself today.
It got me thinking. Does my productivity, my activity, keep the panic at bay? Does my body manage the surge as long as I’m in motion? Is that part of why I find it so hard to relax? Is that some sort of trauma response? Like many of my GenX peers, I grew up in a family that valued and emphasized hard work. I’m proud of that… but did we take it too far?
In real life and on social media, I sometimes find myself marveling at the clear boundaries and strong self-care skills of the next generation. They don’t worship productivity in the way that we were taught to. And there’s also value in that.
Nobody in my life is judging how I spend my summer days except for me. If the panic is a result of an unproductive day, it is most certainly self-inflicted.
And of course, there is the bizarre twist that by writing about this, I feel like the day has become more productive. I’ve created something, and I feel better.
Or maybe that’s just the Ativan.