Rest for the weary

Tired. Exhausted. Beat. Fatigued. Worn the hell out.

However you want to say it. It's all the damn same. And what I'm learning is that grief is a lot of work. But more importantly, it means I have to take care of me. "Take care of yourself." I've heard that a lot. But what does that even mean? And how do I go about doing this mystery thing?  Where do I find time among the sadness, the responsibilities, the bills, the cooking, the cleaning, the errand running, the playing, the working, the crying, etc.
I can remember being so angry (and still am, quite often) that the world didn't stop when Jocelyn died. Not forever, although there were moments when that was a nice thought. But just for a while. It should have stopped if for no other reason than to acknowledge that she was here. It should have stopped for her.
And it should have stopped for me. For us. Time should have stood still for a while. So that I could catch my breath. So that I could attempt to process everything that was going on. So that I could pause. It should have stopped so that we could rest.
But it did not. And it has not. And it will not.

Life goes on at a seemingly absurd pace. I've tried to join in at times. And at other times I've tried to invoke my self proclaimed right to do whatever the hell I wanted and/or needed to. Perhaps THE world wouldn't stop, but MY world could. Right? Wrong. Both of these strategies failed. I was even more tired. More angry. More resentful. How dare you people waltz leisurely into Starbucks?! Don't you know my baby died?! Assholes.

What I am learning is that there is a balance to be found. Some things in my life will continue to demand participation. Work, my marriage, my son. And those things deserve participation from me. They deserve investment.
But the other piece is that the exhaustion, the hunger for rest, the need for solace? These things are very real. And they are very important.
I have to figure out how to take care of myself. I have to figure out what it means. Here is what I know so far:

I have to rest. Sometimes that means sleep. Sometimes it means stay in pj's and be lazy. But I have to rest.

I have to get up. I have to get OUT of my pj's. And do something. Even when I don't wannnnnaaaa.

I have to talk. I have to know who my safe people are. And I have to talk to them. A lot.

I have to, on occasion, be quiet. Be still. Resist the urge to word vomit all of my thoughts. And be still.

I have to make sacrifices. I have to step away from some things. Not because they are innately bad for me, but because they are barriers to peace. And I need as much of that as I can get. It's a rare jewel these days.

I have to uphold commitments. Not everything is to be sacrificed. Some things are non-negotiable.

I have to know my limits. And I have to honor them. I have to listen to my body, my instincts, my heart. I will miss out on somethings. And that has to be okay.

I have to be gentle with myself. I have to grant myself grace. This road is hard. And there is no right or wrong way to do it.

This list is evolving. Daily. Sometimes hourly. But it's a good start.

For now? I'm tired. So I shall rest. Goodnight.

J