1st Mar - Prioritising Self-Care

After a working day which started at 6am yesterday, and ended around 7pm, I ventured off to 7-a-side in the evening, and via a visit to the in-laws and weekly grocery escapade around ALDI, found myself stepping back home at around 11pm. At this point, I can't say I was blessed with maximum happiness, partly due to the cold cling of fabric on my skin, with the torrential rain dousing us through to the bone at football, knees pinkish-red and sore, fingers blistered by wind. But above all, the maximum depressor to my mood, was my own brain. 

I'm my own strictest critic, always have been. At times, it's a huge positive as I'm able to self-motivate and drive myself on in terms of work ethic. But sometimes, my relentless, obsessive, and compulsive desire to have everything perfectly organised and structured leads an overwhelming anxiety. Take yesterday, for example. At the start of every month, I put together a day-by-day, hour-by-hour plan, of the month ahead. All the work I need to do, at what times, on what days, interjected by personal commitments/hobbies/events etc, so to form a type of 'calendar' where I can ensure I'm on top of everything and never miss a beat when it comes to professional duties. 

I spent around 2 hours of my commute compiling this, but in doing so, immediately felt hugely stressed, as I stared at another jam-packed month, failing to spot any opportunities for a 'boxing day', in this 7-day-a-week schedule. After preparing for a shower at close to midnight, my partner asked what my plan was now, and I remarked that I still had around 2-3 hours of work to complete before heading to bed. But then, during my shower (where all the best brainwaves are born), I realised I need to prioritise self-care. In the past month, I'd experienced hospitalisation due to heart palpitations caused by stress, in addition to recurring dreams which translated as psychological indicators of subconscious stress, and I'd also been prone to panic attacks in years gone by... Once again, caused by - there's that word again - stress. 

120,000. That's the number of people who die per year due to stress. To many in my life, it's a running joke. My mum tells me to send her my schedule so that she can even pencil in enough time to have an occasional text-based chat with me on Messenger, my best friend has always - playfully - called me a 'busy cunt', whilst others have always joked about my 'fingers in pies' lifestyle. But I endured another nightmare last night, surely a warning sign that I need to adapt to the several professional sectors I fling myself into, on a account of people-pleasing, and most importantly, a strong desire to make enough money to subsidise my philosophy on making as many life memories as possible. 

Instead, with just 3 hours sleep in the bank on Saturday night, and a further 5 on Sunday night, I decided to postpone all my outstanding commitments, on account of a good night's rest, not setting an alarm, and waking up whenever my body dictated I should. I've abandoned my daily 1-hour walk today, to allow my muscles to rest after 7-a-side, and a hot bath is on the cards for later tonight. Of course, my workload has not gone away. My current schedule tells me that - having woke at 9am today - I'll be working until around 11pm tonight to get everything done. However, I'm a night owl, and am also in somewhat (unpopular) agreement with Molly-Mae in the sense that we DO all get 24 hours in a day, so however we use them, is up to us. Working 5am-7pm doesn't make you somehow 'more motivated' than someone who works 9am-11pm, or Midday-2am. But make sure, however you work.... 

... You prioritise self-care, too.