Sitting at the airport waiting. It seems a week ago I did not have the power to sit still for even 2 minutes. I was constantly moving. Or, I was sleeping. I was in a psych. hospital just 5 days ago where my negative energy and overwhelming angst were too much for me. I would pace the halls, do walking lunges and push-ups throughout the day. My mind raced with such a fervor sometimes I could only close my eyes and check out for relief. Look at me now, sitting with my headphones protecting me from unwanted thoughts. But do not be confused, I feel a little more quiet, a little more sane, and a little more like myself. What I remember about me is my smile and laugh, my sarcastic humor, my ability to banter, my desire for perfection. That last part is what seems to get me into a pickle sometimes.
I never even knew this to be a problem for me. I mean why not want to do the best job you possibly can? The rub is that I do not allow myself time to learn something. If I’m supposed to know it eventually, isn’t it even better to know it immediately? Not at the expense of my personal sanity. I am faced with a new psychiatric diagnosis. However, these symptoms do not seem new to my husband. This man is my best friend and he knows me too well. He remembers very vividly a day when I first got sober that I declared I was feeling “the best” I have ever felt. Before I got sober I would cry desperately to him that I was not the best wife, friend, or worker.
Not to toot my own horn, but I am a pretty good athlete. As a child I played along side the boys. In fact, many times I outplayed the boys. One little league season I was the starting shortstop. Our team made the playoffs. I was the only girl on my team and 1 of 2 girls in the entire league. The boys not so nicely let me know that I was to not play in this playoff game. I needed to figure out a way for the coach to take me out, one way or the other. You get the picture I’m sure. So, I pretended to be sick and said I didn’t think I should start. I sat the bench the whole game for the first time in my sports career.
As I got into the car to go home, holding this secret, my coach flagged our car down. He opened my door, crouched down, looked me dead in the eye and told me to never ever let a boy beat me again. I still get emotional when I think of this defining moment. Perhaps this is the moment when I decided I had to be the best, and right fucking now.
I’m still sitting here quietly watching planes take off into the sky. Our plane is actually late, so I’ll have to get good at waiting, real quick here. What I hope for me is patience. Patience and kindness towards myself. I can still be the best, but maybe I can learn to take my time and enjoy the process.
It is better to seek forgiveness than it is permission.