I Want To Be A Morning Person
I can’t even count how many times I’ve said, “I’m tired,”
And expected that to be enough of an excuse, an exemption, an explanation, for all of my behavior and perceived shortcomings.
How many times I’ve negotiated with the screaming Mimi’s in my mind, Telling them that the day wasn’t wasted. That it’s OK for me to sleep in.
Finding faith in inching towards some semblance of balance.
Blurring the lines between self-care and self-sabotage, not being able to trust my own instincts because I’m. Just. That. Exhausted.
I have this sticker on my laptop that says “Support Your Local Sunrise.” Given to me by a not-coffee company telling me to get up off my tired ass.
(Me 99% of the time) Are you f*cking kidding me?
No one who knows me would call me a morning person.
I want to want to greet the sunrise with wide eyes and deep, gulping breaths. I want the first light of day to reach into me and through me and wake up all those sleepy connections struggling to be made. I want to be one of those people who loves the sun so much that they will actually get up before it rises, determined to catch the first rays of light the day has promised.
I’m just too tired.
My body is attacking itself from the inside out.
Just like my mind, it swings on a pendulum between self-care and self-sabotage, unable to distinguish between friend and foe.
It’s doing its best, I must believe. For what other choice do I have?
More often than not, it’s dragging its feet like an elderly, curmudgeonly poodle, whining about how its back legs just don’t work anymore.
Trying, but really, truly, struggling to move forward.
To walk a mile without aching knees, or write a poem without needing to wring frail and flaring wrists as a persistent afterthought.
Tearing off my fingernails as I go, picking at my skin, constantly feeling lightheaded and weak and hating my body for what it just can’t do,
I have been desperate for information, direction, forward momentum.
I’ve been trying and failing at shaking the sugar, as if it’s a stray bottle of Percocet hiding in the back of my medicine cabinet, just waiting to assist.
I resent the gift that is my cutting edge, holistic medical practitioner,
As if I am a two-year-old crying because she was denied a second scoop of ice cream. Screw the stupid ice cream.
I am in control of this vehicle, and I say —
Sleep when you must,
For however long your valiant and hardworking form needs.
Rise when you are able.
Open your door and step outside, even if you’re still wearing yesterday’s clothes.
Take what’s helpful, and leave the rest.
Listen when you can, write when you can’t, rant and rave when you’re not willing to.
This thing is real. It’s inside you, and it’s long-term.
No one said this would be easy.
You have every right to be tired.
Just don’t let it keep you out of the light for too long.
You’re still a living, breathing thing, after all.
No matter how much your body feels loath to admit it.