I am attempting to do something new every day in a challenge to motivate myself through lockdown 3.0.
I almost gave up this morning. I just felt like I couldn’t be bothered with all these bloody resolutions any longer. It’s been a struggle and yesterday did not help. Yesterday sucked, and not the sucking diesel type of suck.
I have been steadily losing weight since January. I weigh myself very irregularly. However, this week for some stupid narcissistic reason I weighed myself on Wednesday. That result saw me strutting my proverbial stuff. Yesterday, the scales kindly informed me that I had gained three pounds in less than 48 hours. It was not an auspicious start.
Then the two biggies. Firstly I was up for a new job and had been told by the ever-reliable (ha!), recruitment agent that I was a “shoo-in”. I was very excited. I didn’t get it; not even through to the second round. What that means is that it was not my experience that turned them off, but my performance in the interview, for which I had spent four days preparing. Bollix. Now that’s a blow to the ego.
And now the most humongous one. I took my son to be assessed by a speech therapist. Yup. I did this on the Friday afternoon at the end of the first two exhausting weeks back at school, which was at the end of the most horrible lockdown ever. I am an idiot.
She diagnosed him as having chronic speech issues. She said that he is in the second percentile for his age group and bandied around nice happy words like dyslexia, autism and dyspraxia. He’s already been assessed for ASD and has had a negative assessment, but every professional can’t resist mentioning it to me when they meet him for the first time. She is a lovely, intelligent, empathetic women who has a genuine and passionate interest, not just in speech issues but also in the complex workings of his little brain. She is one of the best in our province. I respect her and I left her office deflated, despondent and trying not to cry.
Later, I heard the blessed sacred government ‘hint’ that they were not going to lift restrictions on April 5th, as they had heretofore solemnly promised me PERSONALLY (whether they realise they did this or not). I honestly had not considered any reality where restrictions are not lifted on April 5th. I mean, I’m not stoopid; I knew it wouldn’t be a complete return to normality. However I’d gotten comfortable with the idea that sport would recommence and we could start visiting each other again. I am gutted.
A play date I’d organised was cancelled. Of course, this one had seemed cast in iron and we’d all been super looking forward to it, so I had sooo foolishly already informed the kids. So now we have forlorn faces on the kids. Great.
When I arrived home, I left the car door open. Don’t ask.
In the evening, my daughter developed an inexplicable and excruciating pain in her leg. She suffers from growing pains but this seemed something else entirely. I kept looking for some visible cause to her suffering and screaming, which was waking her every few hours and no amount of massage was helping.
At 1am my husband decided to noisily wrestle the hall door (he’d drunk the odd bottle of beer), and woke the whole house up; so I did the mature thing and picked a massive fight with him.
So by this morning, I just thought, “I don’t care anymore. I’ve tried so hard. I’ve run and walked and cooked and yoga-ed and “new thinged” and motivated and organised and homeschooled and tidied and cleaned and bloody-everything-ed over the last few months and it has gotten me absolutely nowhere. I. Give. Up.”
And that was going to be it. I grumpily managed some breakfast and some dressing of spider-limbed children, both of whom were in healthy and happy form. I then perched on the side of my bed and contemplated sadly doing nothing. I was all ready for it.
A random memory popped into my head. I remembered last Summer when I played in my first ever tennis tournament. I had made it to the semis and was playing last year’s winner. She’s incredible and I was a bundle of nerves. She smashed me in the first set. We were match point in the second set, with her to claim it, and somehow I came back to take that set. I didn’t win the match but I was elated with the result. While these images were flooding my brain, I was muttering to myself, “how did I find the will to come back and take that set?” The memory of that triumph gave me a bit of energy. I found myself getting up and putting on some running clothes; thinking to myself that a jaunt up the road would clear the head.
And so I’m back at it.
I’ve decided that today’s something new is to rely less on my phone, to be phone-less as much as possible. The phone now lives in an awkward, chair-less kitchen corner. It has stayed there obediently most of the day. It remained there when I went to the shop. Instantly it was a really good feeling. I feel unchained. I feel unfettered. I feel free.
I am attempting to complete 7 resolutions over 6 days for 5 weeks:
- Continued embargo on crisps, fancy cheese and booze (except those used in cooking)
- Meditate for ten minutes
- Go for a run or a walk
- Do something new – I’ve never done before.
- Clean the kitchen every evening
- Do at least 5 sun salutations every morning
- No eating after 7pm (except Friday & Saturday)