This post may contain affiliate links. This won’t change your price, but may share some commission. Read my full disclosure here.
The morning after cutting the sink hole, I had a full Saturday of class to attend. Between hunting down the countertop, getting through a tough midterm exam (this DIY week was actually sandwiched between two test-heavy weeks in my grad program), and realizing that my final mid-mester course was starting a week early, I was a little… stressed.
Oh yeah: I also hadn’t been home so much in the last few weeks prior, I’d forgotten about the mail in my mailbox to the point that the U.S. postal service marked my house as vacant. Yes, apparently that kind of cherry on a shit sundae is possible. I spent a couple of days during my staycation to call them and straighten things out, but blog income sometimes comes through the mail, so I was frantically trying to track down some very important checks that I assumed were lost (or returned to sender).
When I’m stressed, at least to this level, I tend to have a hard time sleeping. I am overtaxing myself, and have basically been doing that for the last two years, trying to find balance and still do the things I absolutely love (I’m pretty sure that without the blog, I wouldn’t have enough of an outlet to keep this up). Usually, I can handle things pretty well, as long as I stay flexible, hibernate for a good twelve hours every six to eight weeks, and get a regular amount of exercise (which helps with sleeping and those feel-good endorphins to keep me thinking positively).
But some weeks, like this particular week, just have everything falling around me in such a way that I can’t take one more thing. Not a one. I hadn’t been exercising like I should (despite its benefits, running is one of the first things I cut when I know I’m pressed for time & deadlines). And then not sleeping well from worry. And then, and then, and then.
So when a classmate mentioned how “completely exhausted” I looked in class that morning, I agreed with her. And then I felt the tears welling up in my eyes.
Like many other women I know (and I’m sure even a few guys willing to admit it), every once in a while, there’s really nothing like a good cry. While it may have been poorly timed and beyond my control, until I found myself sobbing in the campus bathroom, I really hadn’t let myself just empty out all of the emotions swirling through my brain. I was tired. I was spent. The week had thrown me upside down on more than one occasion.
If I’m trying not to be my own worst critic, I was actually doing a damn good job of keeping things together. There are a lot of people who consistently remind me that they don’t think what I do on a regular basis each week is even possible, and they always mean it in the nicest way (fyi, being called Superwoman always makes me want to find a sparkly belt). But I know a lot of it has to do with knowing there is a finish line. That sacrifices are made temporarily (like my sanity and sleep) for big payoffs at the end (like a masters degree and working my dream job). When I start to put things into perspective like that, it’s not so hard to believe that I manage not to eat my own fingernails and still make it to my hair appointments (maybe after a cancellation or two, but still…).
Looking at the calendar, I have about 45 more days of this chaos to concern myself with. In the last two years, I’ve learned to be a lot more forgiving and deliberate with where I place my priorities. Pick my battles a little better. Be happy with the B that I got from a day of studying versus the A that would have required a week. Choose not to finish up the project tonight and wait another day to get to the details.
Could I handle another year of this? Probably not. But then again, my expectations would put me in a different frame of mind if that were the case. Point is, I think it’s completely possible for me, for you, for anyone, to put themselves to task and become the badasses we know we can be. Even if that means a good cry every once in a while.