L:12 The List of Demands

ancient antique armor armour
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Last year, I started having problems controlling my anxiety. The ability to cope is better some days and worse others, but I can say with confidence that we’re definitely on the wobbly side of coping right now. I’ve got a brain-full of psychology (clutter is anxious-making, cool is more healing than hot, hydration is important, activity will release endorphins…), and some hand-wavey action plans to help give me a better ability to handle things (ten-minute tidy, de-kipple and KonMari attempts , bare feets, deep breaths of cold air, aromatherapy, pots of tea…). Mornings are hard (I know, I know, they’re hard for most, especially after time change).  I struggle to find the momentum to get out of bed to start the day, usually because of the lingering wisps of anxious (at best) dreams. If that’s also partnered in an unholy marriage with Tired, it’s brutal. I’m fortunate to be able to work from home regularly, if I need that, but for the sake of productivity, I prefer going in to the office to working at home. Not because I get distracted; because I have two giant monitors at work, versus my teeny tiny laptop monitor when I work from home.

This morning’s dream wisps were weird, as they often are. I don’t remember them now, which means they’re not fully-saturated anxious-making. But there is something bothering me, my system has developed a super-helpful way of giving me the head’s-up. Blisters. Some people get exema, some get stress-triggered hives. My system says “hold my beer and watch this” and jumps right to the blisters. Exactly the same place every time, on the bottom of one foot. Nothing heals them except time and cope. It’s nice when your body doesn’t trust you, so it hijacks the system to let you know that it has some demands. They will not heal until I’ve dealt with whatever it is that’s bothering me. Thanks Self, that’s great.

I don’t know what the spiritual equivalent of blisters is, but I feel like I’d also rather not know. So this Lent, may I be aware enough to know when my soul is preparing for fisticuffs. St. Michael, defend us in battle.

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