I cannot seem to figure out pacing. Yesterday I killed it. Read, wrote, cleaned, therapy, work, signed the contract for my bathroom renovation (yes, finally, the clogged drain was August 4. Insurance is not fast.), wrote a letter, and watched two episodes of Limetown. Showered. Went to bed early. Slept like a ROCK.
And am still in bed at 2 pm today.
My tendency is to feel guilt and shame over this, especially when I also was out Tuesday morning. But I know I’m improving. I KNOW it. Measurable growth is all around me: I’ve revised 20 chapters of my novel since July 4th. I’ve rejoined eharmony. I am loving my job and have more admitted students now than I normally would have by the end of October. Better yet, I feel like my appointments are making real connections, meaningful ones. I am leaning into my empathic nature, trying to speak truth to young people, taking risks to tell them what I think they need to hear. My room is not a disaster. I’ve had opportunities to speak publicly this fall in ways that were meaningful. And, I repeat, I AM WRITING. That alone represents such a victory over fear and shame.
So. Still figuring out pacing. Still in bed at 2 pm on a Thursday. But it doesn’t erase the rest of it. I’m so grateful to God for the steadfast spirit that never leaves.
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