A confession.
I woke up this morning with a knot in my stomach and all of the accoutrements of a Temu-grade panic attack.
(This kind of panic attack is not to be confused with a Holt Renfrew-grade onslaught - that‘s next level and saved only for special occasions)
Breathe in, breathe out.
Take a shower.
Dance like a moron.
Shake it off.
Nope. Still there.
You see, things have been piling up a tad lately...
Some pretty serious family health crises (yes, more than one). Kid stuff. The long, slow annihilation of my last remaining hormones. Sociopolitical terror.
The usual, but not.
Anyway. It’s been a bit much.
So, when something gets triggered it can be like that last Jenga block that Bryan, deep into his fourth glass of a lovely Chardonnay, placed just a hair‘s width too far to the left.
Ka-boom.
So here we are and I’ve just received a hint that a long-term and fairly sizeable revenue channel will be disappearing in the next 6 months - a significant impact on overall income.
I’m tired.
I should give up.
Why does this always happen?
Why am I like this?
We are so screwed.
The protagonist slides slowly downwards to crumpled, with her back against the wall, in full dramatic defeat.
Here’s the thought process that ensued:
This is dire. There is so much going on. I can’t handle anything more.
I’ve only got mental room left to focus on this crisis.
And so my focus becomes exactly that - this crisis. And my narrative remains that - I only have room for this crisis.
Seems reasonable enough, right? Just focus on the crisis. What do I need to fix? Let’s do that.
So I’ve been floundering around in that headspace all day... One part victim, one part crippling exhaustion, one part despair, a splash of self-loathing and shame.
That’s an ugly cocktail.
As luck would have it, while zombie-walking through the drug store this evening, killing time waiting for my daughter, one of my brightest lights felt compelled to shine in my direction and reached out with a random message about her own struggle today to escape Catastrophe Brain.
And as I read her text several times over (because I hang on every word when the Universe sends her to me), I had a big question for myself:
Why, when your energetic resources are limited, do you only have time for the crisis?
What if the only thing I had time for was gratitude? Or optimism? Or opportunity?
Isn’t this a choice, just like it was a choice to buy that bulk bag of peanut butter cups just a few minutes ago?
I couldn’t find a good rebuttal to this.
What do I get if I focus only on the crisis?
Probably nothing different, nor more quickly or effectively than if I focus on raising the quality of my energy.
I’ll feel pretty depleted, lacking power or vision.
I won’t have room to focus on what I actually want and manifest that instead.
Look…
I’m going to solve the problem no matter what, so I get to choose if I let all my precious and severely restricted energy be consumed by worry and fear, or by something that gives me balance and makes me smile.
I trust myself enough to know I will never let myself down. So can’t the rest of me sit back in that trust and allow some goddamn rest?
Yes, yes it can.
I’m not the only one feeling a lot of anxiety right now. I think we’re all somewhere close to at least a Nordstrom-level meltdown.
More than ever right now, we all need to manage our energy.
So what if you just don’t have room left for crisis?
What if your remaining emotional resources can only be used for filling you back up?
I’m sold. I’ll start with gratitude and move outward in concentric circles until I hit joy.
My final commitment: I’ve only got room for peace.
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