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| Photo by Digitalnative via Creative Commons |
This past Friday, I laid down on my couch and fell asleep. For over 12 hours. Clearly my body needed the rest.
The past couple of weeks, I’ve been going, going, going. I had a lot of work deadlines and I’ve been traveling quite a bit. I knew that I was going to crash and burn soon, but, oh, those deadlines. They pay the bills. I like my job(s). Well, my body knew better. I’m glad that I just caught up on sleep instead of catching a cold that would leave me incapacitated for days.
Ignoring my body and ignoring the signs that I’m doing too much does not align with my word for the year: Nourish. I knew it was happening, but I kept telling myself, just one more deadline, then I can rest. Instead, I brewed another pot coffee.
I’m not telling you all of this so you feel sorry for me. (Please don’t.) I wanted to share with you how easy it is to talk yourself out of self-care. Things like restful sleep. Or drinking enough water. Or even remember to take my allergy meds. (Have you seen the pollen counts? Oy!) I felt like if I stopped to rest, I would totally crash and wouldn’t be able to get back up. I mean, I had deadlines!
It first started when I realized I was working all day. On and off. I took Sophia to the bus stop. I fed Jaxson and took him on play dates. At home, I was “sneaking” in work whenever I could. An hour (or two) in the morning while Jaxson watched Sesame Street. Another hour during his nap when I furiously shoveled lunch down my throat while simultaneously working at my desk. Thirty minutes here, ten minutes there. After 9PM when the kids were fast asleep in bed. Stopping to chat with my husband when he came home from work. Work some more until I realized I need more than 3 hours of sleep to function when the sun rose.
My work was bleeding into all parts of my life. My boundaries blurred into each other.
I lost sight of why I love working from home. Work consumed me. Not in a good way. I was constantly working but never felt like I got enough done.
Starting today, I’m repairing those. Family time is family time. Work time is dedicated to work. Things like actually taking the weekend off. My self-imposed down time starts Friday afternoon and runs until Sunday night. Just because my office commute is mere steps from my bedroom doesn’t mean I don’t need time off.
I’m not beating myself up for slipping. It happens to all of us. Right?
Work-life balance may seem elusive sometimes, but I’m doing my best. Now my best needs her beauty sleep. Because I’m flying to Los Angeles this weekend.
How does your body tell you that you’re doing too much?