learning how to not hold a breath

I am a workaholic.

Granted, I did not realize I was one until recently.  Until a few months ago, I would have insisted that it wasn't a rooted tendency that fringed on working myself to death, but rather a good work ethic and willingness to pitch in where needed.

Photo by Sebastian Unrau on Unsplash

The beginning of my realization started at my last job.  I worked in a daycare and gosh darn it, I loved those babies. I spent my hours off the clock trying to think up ways to fill my classroom. I wrapped myself in the cloak of 'teacher' and flaunted it with pride. I truly enjoyed being around those magnificent little people and their parents were pretty great too.

I worked even when it was not the time for work because, jokingly I told myself, "It's not work if I want to do it!"

News Flash:

Work is still working even if you enjoy it.

Working on things outside of your passions can still wear you out even if you don't mind doing those outside things.

Taking breaks to invest in yourself isn't just a 'nice break from the norm,' it is a requirement for health.

Ironically, my workaholic tendencies did not start there either, but rather, at my first real actual not-hired-by-a-friend-or-family job.
It was journalism, where I worked with words, with community, with photography and deadlines and I loved it. I soaked it up. I relished in it. "I could do this for the rest of my life!" I decided, making press deadlines. "This doesn't feel like work at all!" I thought, staying up late to cover tiring city commission meetings that drug on and on and on. "It's not work if you enjoy it!" I convinced myself.
I pledged myself to staying late, to going far, to doing more than needed, and I did it because, thats what good, hardworking employees do, right?

It should surprise no one, then, that it was then that my hobbies, my passions, became neglected.

I wrote all day for a newspaper, I was too word-worn to dedicate anything to my novels. Reading books seemed like a chore. My photography lost it's feeling as an art form I indulged in and felt like a job skill I needed to hone. I stopped blogging, reviewing books, and for a few weeks, my friendships took a hit, as I was too busy, too tired and too driven to give more than a few words above what was required.
I smartened up regarding friendships, but I was too busy working to realize that my passions were becoming secondary to my need to work and work and work and work and work.

When I left the newspaper due to a move, I had depleted myself without even knowing it. I had started to hold in a breath and didn't even know how to release it.

Photo by Joanna Kosinska on Unsplash

So when I came into the daycare, the urge to work myself into a blur quickly reignited. I was on autopilot and had forgotten how to thrive outside of work. I needed this job. I needed to stay busy.

So, I was very very very very very very busy.

Whether it was time finally catching up with me, or the (awful) circumstances and work environment of my daycare job that weighted me down until I could finally see the truth, I had a collapsed.

It wouldn't be very noticeable to an outsider, but I had, indeed, worked myself thin. I had no temper to spare and was quick-tongued and reclusive. I came home from work and went straight to bed. I woke up exhausted and spent the work day trying to find some energy.
My work environment was getting worse and I was losing my drive and my energy to overcome it, and I was confused on the why.  I loved my classroom, I loved my co-teachers, I loved my job, so why was I loathing going to work?
I still didn't understand what I had done. I didn't see that I had been running on a career sugar high and I was finally seeing how unhealthy it all had been.

It wasn't until I left my job at the daycare, cried in the parking lot, and drove home with the sense of 'what now? what am I supposed to do now?' that it finally began clicking into place.

The week after I left the daycare, I slept. Not a whole week, of course, but gaps of hours, lumps of time and portions of each day, I slept. It honestly felt like, for the first time in a long time, that I was rested and ready.

I'm working again now, but I'm wiser. I know what I did.  I worked and worked and gave all of myself to a job and left nothing for myself.  A sad side effect was that, as far as writing and photography go, my inactivity also led to feelings of failure and unworthiness in my hobbies. I am working to overcome that.  With blogging, I will have to relearn to appreciate my words and place value in my writing. I am no longer tired, but I am out of practice. I've forgotten how to not hold my breathe and run everywhere.  I've forgotten how to slow down and enjoy each second.

I'm working on it though!
I bought a Polaroid camera and an assortment of scrapbooking items. I plan to scrapbook each Polaroid-worthy event and I've decided I want to start basking in my passions again. I've made it a point to bring a book with me everywhere and to not schedule more work on the days I'm off from work.  I'm going to coffee shops just for the sake of going and basking and writing. I plan on taking more pictures.

As for writing and blogging, it won't be a quick or easy fix.  But I really do want to return to myself, and this blog and my novels are a part of who I am.  I am going to have to find words to write and run with it until I am myself again.
I trust I will get there, but I do ask that you guys look gently on me during this time.  I'm not sure what I will write, or how frequently (or how interesting....) it will all be.

Photo by Matthew Smith on Unsplash

I'm learning how to breathe again, instead of holding it all in.  I'm trying to pour myself back out instead of bottling me up.

Part of my New Years Resolutions were goals to regain my sense of identity, and while I don't plan on listing all of them publically here (as some are of a more personal nature), I can safely say that 'blog more/blog better' did make it onto the list.

 I think I am going to resolve not to read a pre-set amount of books or write a certain amount of words or publish an estimated count of blog posts.
I am just going to resolve to be me and live like me and stop working the fingers of my heart to the bone.