I’ve been meaning to write this for days, which is exactly the opposite of the point. Forced rest is hard.

I am 99% sure this is the first day this week that I have not cried. It’s already mid-afternoon, so I’m calling this a win.

I have cried so much and so hard that I can feel myself blinking. Do you know what I’m talking about? That strange and totally off-putting sensation that normal things are happening, even though you don’t feel normal? It’s not exactly how dare the world spin on without me. It’s more like, I didn’t know I could spin like this.

This week has been hard. Gross. Frustrating.

And also gentle. Helpful. Forgiving.

Grammarly is calling the tone of this post disapproving, confident, and sad. Interesting word choices, for sure. I’ve felt those emotions a lot this week.

Workaholic, Meet the Dark Ages

I guess it started on Sunday with the sudden and unexpected death of my laptop. Go ahead and laugh.

I have a very good track record with laptops. My oldest lasted five years, and the other was around for nearly six. For desktop users, that’s, like, twice as long as laptops are supposed to last. Neither of those machines shows any wear-and-tear at all.

So you can imagine my surprise when Chris the Computer Guy called and told me it was time to pay my respects.

I walked into the repair shop all weepy and disappointed and a little bit angry. I stood there while Chris the Computer Guy explained that I’d managed to buy the worst laptop in the history of laptops and how it lasted so long, no one would ever know. He told me about hard drives and disc drives and all the drives, and I nodded and told him how I thought the SD drive was a hole for the computer to breathe, and yes, I’m serious.

Then, still feeling like I was underwater, I bought a new computer. Because thinking about editing my manuscript does not actually edit said manuscript. And the whole forced rest thing wasn’t really clicking yet.

Try Taking a Hint

I spent the next two days finding all my stuff. The duplicate screenshots of now-obsolete information and homecoming prep videos that aren’t even mine. Like, where do these things come from?

By the time I was finished running updates and digging through years and years of files, I wanted one of two things: a Friends marathon or a nap. You know, forced rest. Instead, I called the orthodontist, because nothing makes a hard week better like people poking around in your mouth.

The ortho appointment really did me in. I’m paraphrasing and skipping over chapters that require too much backstory to write here, but you get the idea. I sat down to move an entire section of my manuscript to a different location in the story, forgot how copy-and-paste works, and crashed on the couch. I think I got about one Friends theme song away from “Are you still watching?” before deciding I was too hungry to sit still.

Today, I slept in.

Forced Rest

I like to assign meaning in places where there is seemingly none. Because for all intents and purposes, I could’ve kept resetting the battery on my old laptop until even that stopped working. But then, I wouldn’t have gotten a couple of hours of reading time on Monday. I wouldn’t have replaced a laptop that, yes, probably should’ve been replaced months ago. Maybe even a year. I would’ve kept cranking out edits even though I needed time away from my world. Because it was there. It’s always there. And when things are constant, we feel constant pressure to pay attention to them.

Rest. God, do we hate rest. When there’s so much we could do, that we have to do. We have to work, and we have to run (like a chicken, not an olympian), and we have to sweat the details, and we have to do it now. Right now. While it’s nagging us. Because if we stop, if we let go, if we sit down and rest, everything goes to hell. Any progress we’ve made stops counting, and any problems we have get worse, and the stories we tell ourselves play on a loop, and we lose. We stop blinking.

How easy it is to think everything is a reflection of our mistakes.

When, in fact, every move we make is a reflection of the stories we tell ourselves. And all stories have ups and downs. All good and noble characters need time to rest.

Finding Meaning

Yesterday, my calendar prompt was, “Start telling a new, empowering story.” I didn’t know what to do with that until this morning.

I ran a laptop for almost six years. Ran it till its last breath. Every day, when I closed up shop for the night, I told it, “You’re amazing.” And maybe that’s crazy. But look how far it got me. That’s a win.

Chris the Computer Guy waived the rush fee on my repairs. That’s a win.

I am the owner of a new computer, and that’s a freaking win. I even know what the SD slot is for (and by the way, it’s not escaping air).

On Monday, I’m going back to ortho to take care of a pesky dental issue that’s been driving me crazy for a year. That’s also a win.

And how gentle was all of that? How forgiving? I lost nothing and gained all of this.

Here’s my best piece of advice right now (to myself and anyone who wants it): If you’re feeling burned out, rest. If you’re tired, rest. And for heaven’s sake, if you need to cram in one last binge session before Friends leaves Netflix (for real this time), go for it. Enjoy it, all of it.

It’s the only way we get back to “normal” life.

If you need a hug, find one. If you need a book, find one. If you need a walk, take one, and if you need to cry, just do it.

But in these moments, especially, remember that you aren’t alone.

HUGS. xo

Photo by elizabeth lies on Unsplash