Summer
has always been the season of introspection for me. As a kid I would spend a
week every year at Christian summer camp, which would inevitably bring times of
inner contemplation (and guilt), motivational speeches, and a renewed
commitment to living my best life. This emotional high usually wore off by mid
September, but I could count on camp for hitting the reset button every July.
(Cue “Awesome God” and “Every Move I Make” worship songs.)
Sometimes
I wonder if that pattern conditioned me to take extra time post-camping years
for reflection, analysis, and, yes, guilt. Sitting in the sunshine, hiking in
the woods, walks along the beach--all summer activities that bring nature’s
invitation to breathe and think. Evenings after the kids are asleep to watch
the sun sink beneath the horizon and wonder. I wonder hard, and this summer
seems extra hard. The wondering is spiraling on the edge of cyclical
negativity, exhaustion, both physical and emotional, and reduced energy for
mothering three little boys.
It isn’t
fair to deal with depression in the summertime. Especially where we live in
upstate NY. I get enough of SAD the 7 months of winter thank you very much. No,
now it’s sunny and warm, with brilliant colors all around and gentle breezes to
keep you comfortable. There are evening walks for ice cream, extra time for
leisurely solitary strolls (or hard runs), and fresh produce everywhere you
turn. That I would want to hunker down on the couch with my Kindle, a blanket,
and the promise of uninterruption for weeks on end seems utterly ridiculous.
I’m fighting back hard, but this is where my energy level lies.
I’m sure
that feeling burned out is an understandable state of being, seeing as we’re
still in the thick of a pandemic after all. Still, it isn’t a burnout brought
about from frantic scheduling, tag-teaming with babysitters, holiday church
services to execute, and recital season. It’s a burnout I’ve never experienced
before, and boy does it bring about the wonderings.
I see
more than ever how introverted and sensitive of a personality I have. The
longer I do the adulting thing the more I realize I’m much more like my 3 year
old self than I’ve admitted. Recharging on my own isn’t optional. (But try
doing that quarantined at home with a husband and three kids!) Group
projects are exhausting. I don’t like wasting productive time in the name of
dysfunctional teamwork. Small talk is wearisome. I hate being on the phone. I
rely on positive affirmation more than I’d like to admit. All of these things are
out of whack at my current place of employment, largely due to COVID.
Here are
a few less negative observations/realizations:
- I’m happier and more productive working in solitude.
- I prefer to work hard in the morning and afternoon and keep my evenings unscheduled and at home.
- Cooking and baking aren’t just fun--they’re meditative.
- The more I exercise the better I feel. Getting a daily 30 minute workout (bare minimum) is not optional.
- I have a handful of kindred spirit friends. If that. And that’s enough. I used to think I needed lots of friends to be “normal.” I don’t think that anymore.
- I have the best husband in the whole wide world. I mean, the BEST. But sometimes I need a break to be completely by myself.
- As great as it is to find a time and a place for quiet, finding a time and a place to be in charge of my own decisions is even more restorative.
Continuing
to reflect, read, exercise like mad, eat crazy-healthy, take my meds, try to
get enough sleep (my body is betraying me here), and all that good stuff.
Because, you know, winter’s coming. Best to soak up the sun while it’s here.
Time to
kiss the babies goodnight and tuck them in. They really are such wonderful
kiddos--every day, while exhausting, is filled with their laughter and
explorations and love. Let’s end things on a sweet note tonight. Tomorrow is
another day with no mistakes in it.
