I have really been struggling with my motivation recently, and also, I just haven’t had all that much to say. Since finding out I was being made redundant I feel as if I’ve been spiralling a bit, untethered, in free-fall. The structure that I crave in my days crumbled around me like some historic building, shedding its bricks, surrendering to its fate. I have, for the most part let it go. I have allowed myself to fall apart because this is the end of this cycle.
I had my second colposcopy in as many years. Just a routine thing but important nonetheless. And after being talked to as if I was about six years old for half an hour, in the most patronising tone (I have a degree in human biology, I am a woman, and I am well aware where babies and periods come from, thank you…) it left me feeling exhausted and a little fragile. No exercise for a week. Doctor’s orders. Unheard of. Mostly ignored.
Mum took me out for a nice garden centre lunch. You know those ones where they have a nice conservatory with wicker furniture and ‘homemade’ cakes that cost about £6 a slice and you’d need to remortgage your house to buy the smallest Christmas decoration.
For the rest of the week I resisted rest. Begrudgingly agreeing not to do any workouts but not making any promises about not going up to ride. I think I lasted about three days. Riding is always one of those things where I’m 100% convinced I’m not doing any exercise despite my Whoop app proving the contrary.
By the following week it was clear that my body was fighting something off. A short ride on a Tuesday evening left me struggling to breathe, lungs burning. I’ve been here before. By Wednesday I was really sick. Aching limbs, fever, headaches, an increasingly unproductive, yet oh-so-persistent cough. So. Much. Snot. And despite all of this, I battled on. I kept going because it was my last few days at the job where I’d been made redundant, and I wanted to make sure my colleagues had everything they needed to carry on without me.
Why do I keep doing this to myself?
Friday provided some respite, and I spent the day in my pyjamas, reading my new book. I knew I was really too ill to do anything else, and I’d be a fool to try. 1% recovery said my app. Code for, stay in bed and don’t you dare move.
I wasn’t much better by Saturday, and my wonderful friend rode Skye round to the house to see me. By the evening I was starting to feel a little more human. I felt as if I’d finally crested the wave and I was slowly, slowly making my way down the other side. Perhaps that brief stint outside had done me some good. I’d not left the house since Tuesday and I was probably dealing with a bit of cabin fever too. And by this morning I was finally feeling ok enough to attempt a gentle hack around the village. It felt so good to be outside .
I’d like to say I’ve learned my lesson, and that when I feel called to rest, or more likely, am told to, I’ll be able to. I am trying, but it is so difficult to unlearn these behaviours that go back to my childhood, a time when presenteeism was everything and you were never not too sick to go to school.
But I will keep trying until rest feels acceptable and easy.
I start my new job tomorrow.
Competing demands are hard to manage! Take care of yourself, and best wishes in your new job :)