The Dreamer's Pen

Met with my psychiatrist today and told her about the ER visit after I fainted in the shower.She looked at me and said something that kind of stopped me in my tracks.

“Your body is telling you to slow down… NOW. If you don’t find time to decompress or relax, you will cut your life short. YOU WILL DIE.”

Hearing that was… a lot. Jarring. She’s not dramatic and I trust her. Which means I know she meant it.

Two jobs. My usual over achiever style. Trying to finish my TESOL certification as fast as humanly possible. It is not sustainable. Especially for someone pushing 40 who already struggles with sleep because of PTSD. Thankfully, I submitted my teaching portfolio last night, so at least that part is done.

But something else hit me today. I don’t actually know how to relax. Relax? What is that?

Weekends for me have never meant resting. Weekends mean catching up. Cleaning. Planning. Working on something. Always doing something.

I grew up with a German mom who worked and worked and worked. She worked until she died. And somehow, even though I talk about that pattern all the time, I think I was still in denial about how much I was repeating it.

So this weekend I might actually do something different. I’m thinking about going to the spa and just decompressing for a while. Stepping away from everything.

No productivity. No goals. Just warmth. Quiet. Water. Just being in my body for a bit instead of constantly pushing it.

That idea feels weirdly unfamiliar to me.