It finally happened. After weeks of trying to do everything, this machine that is my body gave up. The merry-go-round has broken down. Now, I feel like it is impossible to do just about anything.
For some strange reason I told myself I had to do everything. Everything had to be cleaned and washed. All of the work had to be finished. Everyone needed to be talked to or helped. Everyone needed to rest – except me of course.
I got physically ill. Sick from weeks of running without sleep and food. I ran until the edges of my body gave up. My emotions erupted like a ticked off volcano. They exploded on my husband and anyone close to me.
Thankfully, God gave us bodies that work like miracles. Thankfully, I married an exceptionally kind man.
Three weeks ago my husband told me I needed more sleep and rest. I did not listen.
Two weeks ago he told me not to get up at 4:50am to workout. I did not listen.
Last week he told me to just watch tv and be still. I did not listen.
Today – he took off of work and drove me to the doctor.
I called my mothers. My mother told me that I needed rest. I told her I did not understand why I was tired. When I was in grad school I worked harder and longer and under more stress. My mother told me, “You are older now. You can no longer do what you use to be able to do.” Truth.
I called my mother-in-law. She told me that there are times where we can do more than we think we can, but there are also times where we do more than we should. Truth.
What do I do now?
I had told my body three weeks ago that I was giving up on relaxing. My husband is great at relaxing. I felt guilty for feeling like I should be working all the time. So I told my husband and myself that I was giving up trying to rest. I thought I just wasn’t meant to relax. Unfortunately, my body never got the memo about not relaxing. It did, however, get my husband’s memo that I needed to relax. So now, because I have no other choice, I relax.
The human body is a miraculous amazing thing. Last week I slid into third base during a softball game and skinned my leg. It hurt. To add to the pain, the umpire did not know that in softball the tie goes to the runner. Had I been wearing pants instead of shorts, I would not have this wound. If I had never slid, the wound would not exist. The thing is, I wanted to slide. I wanted to give everything. I wanted to push myself. I am glad I did it. But next time, I am going to wear pants. Next time, I am going to tell myself that I can play hard, but playing for DeWitt Township is unlikely to lead to a career in the pros.
Today, the wound is almost healed. On Wednesday morning I woke up and thought I would die if I did not rest. One day later, the wound is healing. I should have rested sooner. I should have slept longer. If had rested I would not be sick. If I had listened to my husband I would not be feeling this. But I wanted to play. I wanted to push myself and see what I could do. I cannot say I am glad I did it. I can say that I learned. Next time, I pray I will listen to my husband. Next time, I will sleep if I can. If life were as short as a softball game I could push to the brink and most likely be okay. But life isn’t a softball game. There are not seven innings – there are over seventy years. I want to do a lot, but I can’t do everything. If I am going to make it, I can’t slide at every close call.
Pray that I breathe. Pray I take breaks. Pray that I listen. Pray that I rest. Pray the wound heals. Pray that the merry-go-round can spin again.