Sunday, May 6, 2012
The holding pattern
Those old feelings have returned: fuggy, weighty, troubling.
It's been interesting to see that many of the self-care practices I've been cultivating have disappeared from the agenda over the past week. No painting. Minimal blogging. I've been unable to muster the energy for my weekly gratitude practice. And I haven't stopped to witness small but magical moments in amongst the haze and laze.
Which is funny, because all of these things would go some way to make me feel a little better.
Instead it's been about compulsive tidying. Comfort food. Impulse shopping. Boring television. Escape into fiction. The relentless comparison game. Cynicism. Pessimism.
The good thing is, I know it's not a regression. Or a descent.
In my more awake and benevolent moments, I can also see glimmers of my best self through the murkiness: the tenacity to ride my bike in the rain; painting planter boxes with my little 'un; tucking away secret plans and dreams; carving out time to journal; consulting the oracle with soul deep question; savouring exquisite coffee; steaming BBQ pork buns.
But, to be honest, none of these things are enough to propel me out of this fug.
I can see this for what it is.
I'm avoiding something.
I know I'm about to face it. Once I do, I'll feel a whole lot better. Freer. More me.
Until then, I'll be afraid.
Once the moment of articulating my fear has passed, I'll wonder what it was that I was so afraid of.
The quiet victory of one more boundary built to keep my Inner Critic at bay.
I know there are a few folk "out there" who are bemused by this relentless navel gazing. But this is the way I am. I want to understand what's happening and why.
If there's one thing that I've learnt so far, it's that fuggy times like this will never really go away. But they can become less overwhelming, and more a logical consequence of a specific set of other factors.
And, like all things, it will pass.