The Gift of Procrastination.

Day 7 of 30

I wondered how long it would be before I did not publish my daily blog in my 30 day commitment.

It was 6 days.

Six days of consistent writing is a good start! And on the 7th—I paused.

Six consecutive days is great, actually, especially considering that I wrote 2 articles in one day the last day I did write, which was the day before yesterday. I popped one up on Elephant Journal, that was a few hours of devoted writing and editing over the course of a rainy Sunday. And I dropped a few paragraphs here on my own site—as I had committed to doing.

So what happened yesterday?

Yesterday felt heavy, so heavy. My granddaughter who, along with her mommy and daddy, is staying with me, was fussy. Toddlers get fussy; it's a normal thing. However, for whatever reason, my OCD was also kicked up and having 3 extra humans plus a young dog in my space was not helping.

I started getting those sensations that are indicative of anxiety: racing heart, racing thoughts, and the urgent need to do something! Rather than giving into my over functioning tendencies, I took my ass to bed for a little cat nap, gently nudging my body to do the very opposite of what it is programmed to do when it is in that state—run.

Then the sound of fussy adults pulled me abruptly from my afternoon doze.

Rather than popping out of bed to see just what the fuck was going on (a fight response), I laid in my nest of pillows and allowed my consciousness to fully descend back into my body before I decided what my next move needed to be.

I was annoyed, ya see.

Living alone, I don't fight with myself (well, not aloud, anyway), so the sound of adult voices raised in conflict and agitation is a trigger for me. It was commonly heard in my childhood and recreated in my early relationships.

Pausing—before acting—is, actually, a Herculean feat of self-care for me.

I used to throw myself headlong into any fray—and I just fucking can't anymore. It's not who I am and it's not my job.

After a diffused conversation amongst the adults about what is, and what is not, appropriate means to negotiating conflict, insecurity, hurt, and fear—in my space—I took my ass to the hot springs.

Getting my daily, or every other day, or even weekly, soak in is another thing I have been struggling with that is, more often than not, cornerstone to my own self-care and commitment to my mind-body wellness. Sometimes even that feels like too much, too many people, too much stimulation or effort—too much. Sometimes that place is my mother-loving sanctuary.

So I went and soaked until I felt mostly boneless, came home and ate a some of turkey that the kids had cooked that afternoon, turned on Heartland, curled up in my bed, and fell asleep.

That was what I needed, a good tryptophan-induced coma.

We tend to think of procrastination as some sort of personal failure or as being lazy. But what if it's not? What if, when we procrastinate, we are actually pausing—giving ourselves a chance to catch up physically, mentally, and emotionally.

Or, what if, when when we put something off for a moment or two, we are actually tuning into a deeper, more aligned timing?

As I turned my face into the pillows, I knew I was choosing not to write my blog. I knew I was dropping my commitment to that for the day. I knew exactly what I was doing. I knew I could force myself upright and dribble out at least a few lines and that would fulfill my daily writing commitment—and I chose not to.

I chose not to fulfill that commitment, in that way, in that moment, because I did not have the capacity. And, as devoted as I am to writing, (or anything or anyone, for that matter), first comes my humanity, my body, and my capacity.

I'd love to hear how you notice and tend to your capacity in the comments, if so inspired. And if you like, you can join this journey with me by subscribing to my blog.

Lotsa love,