It’s Saturday afternoon and this weekend I have no water at my house. My pipes developed a leak that was running even with the faucets off. Already, I know I’ll have to replace the entire ceiling of my downstairs bathroom and part of the office ceiling. There may be more. Rather than pay a plumber’s emergency rate, I decided to dry out the environment with a dehumidifier over the weekend and have the plumber come next week. The earliest appointment I could get is late Tuesday afternoon.
On Thursday, I had all sorts of goals for this weekend punctuated by a wedding shower I’m attending on Sunday afternoon. My running list included proofreading some recipes, working on the website, designing some new packaging for an upcoming product, and testing some recipes. I was focused on what I felt I needed to accomplish.
I also felt an edge of foreboding and dread knowing that I wasn’t exactly feeling up to tackling such an extensive list right then so I’d have to drag myself kicking and screaming (internally so as not to scare the neighbors) toward those goals. Bummer, but I’m in this spot more than I’d like to admit and I know I can push myself and accomplish any goal I set. So, I jerked my bootstraps a bit tighter and set forth.
But there was a problem. Really, problemS. Trickle, gush, slosh – everything changed! My list no longer mattered because there were immediate practical needs that superceded my well-laid plans.
My first thoughts in the moment were to mobilize and start a new plan. My mind began to churn: I’ve had some recent unexpected expenses. How can I avoid going to a hotel? I can shower at the office, except I have no clean towels. I have a key to my neighbor’s house while she’s gone, so I can borrow some water for tooth brushing and toilet flushing. Of course, as soon as I have that thought, I get a text telling me to give the key to the dog sitter.
Finally, I stop pushing forward. I shift my focus. Breathe. Take a moment. Think about what’s really important. Oddly, I notice that the moment I shift, I feel more grateful than annoyed. Thank goodness I know how bad the leak is before I head off to work out of town for the day. I even begin to smile as I recognize how quickly the importance of my weekend goals pale in comparison to figuring out how to manage the basic tasks of life (Where will I shower? How can I brush my teeth? How much water will I have to pour down the toilet for it to flush? Do I have a clean dress for the wedding shower?). I notice I feel relieved by the chance to ditch my original list and start over.
Thank goodness for the occasional curve ball life throws us! When a sudden change gets our attention, and we stop planning the next moment and lean into this one, we may realize that our brains are headed down a totally different path than our hearts.
Okay, trickle, gush, slosh, I’m paying attention. How can I best take care of myself through a weekend without water and still not break the bank? What are my intentions and priorities? How will I feel if I don’t accomplish a single item on my original list? Will I be able to sit still knowing a renovation is imminent? Can I avoid revving back up and pushing myself?
Through the generosity of friends, I have the key to an apartment across town where I can shower and do laundry. I hauled some water for today, so I’ve been able to make coffee, wash my hands, brush my teeth, and water the plants. I’ve even gotten the toilet flushing figured out, although it took more water pouring than I remembered to make it work.
The funny thing is, I keep feeling like everything is broken and I can’t do anything – watch TV, use the microwave, cook on the stove, dry clothes in the dryer, sweep the floor, wash the dishes. That’s silly. The gas and electricity work. There’s no reason at all to stay at Heather’s to dry the clothes. I can bring them home wet and use my dryer. I can heat leftovers in the microwave, and if I heat some water on the stove, I can wash the dishes by hand. Admittedly, it makes more sense to use paper plates, but I’m fascinated by the fact that I feel limited in other areas when only one thing has changed.
Yes, it’s one thing that affects many everyday tasks, but it’s only one thing. I feel like it’s EVERYTHING. I can’t seem to find a comfortable rhythm for the day. What felt like plenty of water yesterday seems like way too little today, although in reality I still have an adequate supply. Somewhere down there, I think I feel scared. Of what? I don’t know. Just uneasy like if one thing shifted something else could too.
I tell you this because I recognize that this may be how some of you feel when you find out you will be healthier without gluten. One thing has changed, but it feels like EVERYTHING. And that feels scary.
As I explore how to best take care of myself on this off-kilter, scary day, perhaps you’ll find some inspiration for moving through your fear.
First, I’ll take inventory. Am I missing anything I need to eat, sleep, bathe, dress, work, or socialize comfortably? At this moment, I have enough water to drink and make coffee tomorrow plus some for tooth brushing, etc. If I should need more, I have retrieved the keys to my neighbor’s house or I can go to the office. There’s no real chance of running out. I have precooked food on hand. I have paper plates. I have washed the dress I want to wear to the wedding shower. I have purchased the cards and the gifts for the shower. I have books, TV, and internet for entertainment, or I can go for a walk. If I want to shower later, it’s a short drive to the apartment. I have everything I need.
Next, I will take the time to notice that I feel grateful for how little effort it has taken to procure what I need. I will sit with that gratitude for a moment. I may even get out a piece of paper and make a very specific and detailed list of things for which I feel grateful.
If I feel too restless to be still, or like I’m speeding up into a frenzy, I will plant my feet firmly on the ground and look around. I may grab a pillow and hold it while I do this. I will look at the colors or objects around me focusing on the tiniest details. Once I can be still, I will explore where in my body I feel the fear that is causing me to feel restless. When I feel the fear localize, I will allow myself to feel it for as long as I can at this moment. I know that I can trust my body to support me and I know that the longer I can sit with this fear, the less likely it is to be triggered by a similar event in the future. I will exercise the courage to face my fear, but I will choose patience and kindness toward myself. I will stop when I have reached my limit. Then, if I need personal contact, I will call a friend. If I need distraction, I will watch a comedy. I will acknowledge how proud I am of myself for leaning into fear rather than running from it. If this process lasts for hours or for days, I will be patient with myself and know that eventually it will end. There is no reason to panic.
If I pay attention, I will be presented with an opportunity to shift my point of view and move toward feeling good. At that moment, if I choose to let go of fear, anticipation and excitement will replace it and I will be prepared to embrace joy. Momentary happiness requires no preparation, but joy requires us to embrace our fear and let it go. I know this because sometimes I manage to do just that. I intend to practice this more often. This weekend is the perfect opportunity for me.
I am grateful for my increasing courage. Are you prepared to join me?
Cheri