Transparent Tuesdays

Issue 181

You guys,

I walked into the kitchen as Sam was pouring himself a fourth cup of coffee at 1pm. 

He asked how NSDR went and I told him in my most miserable, grumpy dump tone, “Horrible. It sucked! I haven’t gotten anything done today, and I’m trying to prioritize rest, and I can’t even fucking rest!”

I slammed something down on the counter because it was there. I made little eye contact with Sam because I didn’t want to see any type of look on his face that would make me aware of my childish behavior. 

I had just finished an NSDR (Non-Sleep Deep Rest) session. It’s like a guided meditation. You’re not exactly meant to fall asleep, but in the 23-minute video I use, Andrew Huberman tells me it’s okay if I do. I’ve come to look forward to and depend on my 15-minute nap, especially when I’m not feeling well.  

The problem arises when Huberman gets further and further into the body scan and I lie there more and more awake. My breath becomes shallow and I stop listening to his soothing voice. Instead I hear my own panicked thoughts that I won’t fall asleep.

On this day I did not fall asleep, nor did I feel rested. In fact, by the end of it, I felt the rage of a person desperate to control the situation who’s just lost control.  

I had been feeling sick for more than two weeks and it was driving me a little crazy. It was the kind of sick where I was still functional. I could move through the world—I could do things—but I was exhausted, and when I exerted myself too much by something as simple as cleaning the kitchen, my body ached. Sam had been feeling the same way but he had a better outlook. He could take a decongestant and drink five cups of coffee and barrel through. I, on the other hand, preferred to feel sorry for myself and lash out at my family. 

George is demanding the purple fork instead of the blue one? Tough shit! The purple fork is in the dishwasher! Layla is following me around the kitchen crying and crying and crying because she wants to be held? NO. Sam makes a joke about… anything? Not funny!

Today I wanted to be a better person, so I decided to surrender to rest. I wrote it at the top of my to-do list. First priority. 

I made a point to not get on my computer to do any of the creative work that was hanging over my head—work that is always hanging over my head because it’s never-ending. Instead, after we dropped off the kids at school, I did laundry while I listened to podcasts. I went for a walk outside and then laid down to do NSDR. I was feeling proud of myself for following through on rest. But then it didn’t. fucking. work. 

My commitment to rest lasted about four hours and culminated with what looked like an entitled teenager slamming her bedroom door and blaring her music so loud it shakes the house.   

Sam responded in the only way a loving husband can respond when their partner has become irrational and petulant. He said, “I’m sorry you’re feeling this way. Is there anything I can do?”

I willed myself not to roll my eyes and let loose my rage on him. “No,” I huffed. And walked away.

Temper tantrums are a bubbling over of anxiety—peak overwhelm—when I have so many feelings and emotions I don’t know what to do with so I turn them all into one big, angry hurricane.

In order to stop these blow-ups I need to get to the root cause of why I have them. My self-worth has been tied up in my identity as a writer and creator. I will be worthy when I write my memoir and it becomes a best-seller. If I’m not working every day towards that then I’m lazy, unfocused, and unworthy.

That’s the story I tell myself about my self-worth, even though intellectually, I know it’s my ego talking and not my authentic self. 

My authentic self loves writing and reading and learning and fostering the relationships with my husband and kids and feeling physically fit and energized in my body when I give it everything it needs with diet, fitness, and rest. My authentic self does not want to “push through” feeling crappy, and she doesn’t need to meet some self-imposed deadline to create something (unless it’s this newsletter, of course). 

My authentic self does not make me feel like a piece of shit human for throwing a fit. All she ever does is love me and hug me and tell me everything will be okay. 

She’s really quite annoying. 

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Until next week,

Charlie

Thanks to Rick Lewis, Camilo Moreno-Salamanca, Hayley Brengartner, Steven Foster, and Latham Turner for the conversation, feedback, and space to be an inarticulate mess. I love your faces.