I had a morning.
I won’t say it was “one of those mornings,” because that implies that it was a morning that I feel others will recognize. You would say, “Oh I know it well.” You would picture my bad hair, my daughter dragging paper towel all over the dirty kitchen, and my dog puking as I try to rush out the door.
But it wasn’t like that.
It was all good, from when I woke up at 5 am, until I put the babies down to nap at 10:15. It was time for me to workout, something to which I had actually been looking forward all morning.
I went down into the gym, baby monitor and water bottle in hand. I put on O.P.P. (anyone who follows me knows that is one of my most common workout songs). I tied my shoes. I opened my tabata timer. And then I just sat on the floor.
I sat on the floor under the weight of my busy mind, under the weight of my distractions, under the defeat of all the things I didn’t accomplish this morning, or any morning, and, in my mind, never ever will.
I sat and thought, ‘I do this for a living. I get people off the couch and off the floor.’
I coached myself: “You will feel better after you workout.” “My heart is not in it.” “OK. Be kind to yourself. Do yoga instead. That will get you off the floor.” “It won’t. Not today. I can’t.” “OK. Be kind to yourself. Have a bath. Or take a nap.” “I can’t. That won’t fix this.”
I just read Rachel Hollis‘ Girl, Wash Your Face (which I highly recommend, by the way). She talks about how writing is her passion and her lifelong dream. As a successful author, she obviously makes money by writing, but encourages her readers to pursue their passions regardless of outcome or reward.
Writing is my passion, too. But I don’t do it enough.
It did get me off the floor this morning. Writing didn’t make me workout or do yoga or take a bath. But it did get me upstairs and onto my laptop to write this.
Let me be clear: there is sadness and then there is sadness. I am not depressed (Although if I were, I would still write about it). I am just like many women I know; paralyzed by what ifs and mistaking opportunities for obstacles.
One of the best things about writing in the first person is that someone else will hear your voice as their own. At least one other person.
So in sharing this, I hope you identify at least one thing (not a person or a substance) that will get you off the floor next you find yourself there. xo