Hitting the Wall

Hitting the Wall

When I was in my twenties and thirties, I heard older women talk about how important it was to do “self-care” and to say no to some things for other people so they could say yes to themselves. I heard them talk about using up all your energy and not having enough left. At church, I even remember hearing a woman talk about boundaries and how important it was to set them so that other people didn’t use you up entirely.

Jesus didn’t have boundaries, I said self-righteously.

Jesus gave and gave and gave until he died.

That was what was expected of me as a wife and mother.

And so that is what I did. I gave and gave. I got by on five or six hours of sleep a night, even if I was pregnant. I woke up at 5 a few times a week so I had extra time to write—time to myself. I didn’t have help with the kids or the household chores. I had seven pregnancies and five living children in 11 years. I did summer projects with them, putting on neighborhood plays with other children, sometimes babysitting to bring in extra money, clipping coupons, running to the stores with specials, garage sale-ing and thrift store shopping and hustling to keep the household running while also trying to balance the budget. One year, I remodeled the kitchen. I canned peaches and grape juice. I sewed clothes. I learned how to crochet. I exercised regularly.

I did everything.

And then I collapsed.

After my daughter died in 2005, I found that I didn’t know how to do self-care. I didn’t have inner resources to figure out how to stop spiraling suicidal thoughts. I didn’t believe I should need those things, either, and I was impatient when anyone told me the truth—that I might never get over this loss, that I might never be my old self again.

My idea of self-care after my daughter died was signing up for my first Ironman nine days later, and then immediately starting to train for one. While this did keep me sane (exercise can be soothing and repetitive to me, as well as giving me those chemical endorphins), I don’t recommend it.

It did teach me about the principle of “hitting the wall” in marathon training, which often happens at about mile 18. People used to think it was a mental block, but it turned out to be an actual physical problem with glycogen stored in muscles having a limitation. And you can deal with it by making sure that you take in calories while in the early miles of a marathon.

Doing a marathon or anything longer is never easy. But you can avoid hitting the wall by taking care of yourself and anticipating the future lack of resources. In much the same way, I’ve become cautious about expending too much of myself early on in any day or in any given task because I don’t know what’s going to be required later, especially if it’s something new. I’m going to be able to make it through any given day if I have that little bit of cushion and don’t require myself to give more than 100% when things hit the shitter.

I don’t give very much advice to anyone, let alone to my children, but there is one principle that I’ve passed on to them, and that’s to make sure you don’t schedule more than 80% of your time or energy for any given day. It’s possible you’ll end the day with that 20% extra, but far more likely that something unexpected will come along and take that extra saved energy from you. It’s just a reality of living in the real world with other humans.

And I’ve become a little better at figuring out how to do real self-care for myself. I go on long walks every morning and I generally have a strategy of “slow mornings” which means I don’t have a set plan for what workouts I’ll do that day until I figure out how the day is going. I try hard to set more reasonable goals for myself (half of what I want to set). I try to eat healthy, but refuse to go on formal diets and won’t count calories anymore because I did that for fifteen years and now I’m done.

I also take naps, something I never let myself do before, even if I don’t actually fall asleep. I wear comfortable clothes all day every day. I try to care about my own comfort over the comfort of others in general. This doesn’t mean I’m an asshole, but it does mean I’m allowed to consider myself and my needs, if not first, then at least somewhere in the top ten spots. I try to tell myself my own narrative rather than constantly seeing the world from the perspective of others.

Also, I’m learning to celebrate, just a little. For instance, this week I bought myself a ridiculous pair of cashmere sweatpants and some silk pajamas. Do I deserve them? Well, I may not be quite to the point I can say a definitive “yes,” but let’s just say I’m enjoying them and the message of enoughness they sent to my brain.