A friend recently highlighted an ailment suffered by many of us: Impatientitits. You may know its sister syndrome: Get’erdonetosis.

She shared some stories about her lifelong relationship with these conditions. The fact that she is a working professional and a mother of three offers some clues as to why she suffers: she has had to make things happen in her life – if she simply sat back and rested on her laurels, nothing would get done. Right?

In our production-driven society, we have grown accustomed to instant results; waiting has become intolerable on either side of the equation.

When was the last time a colleague or supervisor said, “No rush on that report -whenever you get a chance just send it along. Your health and wellbeing far outweigh that silly ol’ thing.”

Hyper-Competency

Tara Henley was a high-octane Canadian journalist who eventually walked away from her career and headed for the woods. In Lean Out she writes of her failing health:

“When you’ve been hyper-competent – a giver of all things to all people – it’s hard for others to comprehend that you are down for the count. Since everybody needed something from me I couldn’t ask anybody for help.”

Can anyone relate?

Productivity is wired into our brains for good reason. We are an action-oriented species upon which our survival depends. Yet we have managed to feed this useful trait a steady diet of performance-enhancing steroids. The result: an over-promising, super-duper-according-to-us species that is quickly succumbing to a host of stress-related illnesses.

More Karma from the Cabin

When we purchased the property in October, Dave asked me what I thought we could get done before the snow flew a month or two later. Here was my list:

• cabin lifted, joists and floors repaired, resettled on new blocks with crushed stone base
• siding on exterior installed
• front door painted
• interior walls and ceilings clad in shiplap or equivalent
• new driveway
• all junk on property removed

I wondered why groans emanated from his fetal-curled body. I put down my clipboard and reassured him that the timeline for the interior work could be completed leisurely all winter long – no rush!

There was a part of me that believed the above list was doable if I could just keep my foot on the gas pedal, shoulder to the wheel. It had worked in the past. Why not with the cabin?

Delusional? Yup. It’s now easy to spot the folly in my reno plan. Yeesh. Enthusiasm run amok.

As I made Dave another cup of spiked coffee, it also dawned on me that I was back to my old ways of operating: I had forgotten some crucial lessons once learned and presumed internalized. Apparently not.

There is nothing wrong with a healthy desire to achieve and grow. But when we have been on overdrive for too long, our ability to see what is reasonable becomes skewed. Throw illness into the mix and you’ve got a real mess.

The body is a magnificent and complex collection of mechanisms. It is also fragile.

Crash and Burn, Baby

Although not appreciated at the time, illness threw me a bedridden lifeline in 2017/18. Unlike cancer years earlier, there was no clear and concise label for was happening so I stamped it ‘Failure’: failure to keep up with the pace of life and do what needed doing. Everyone else was able to – what the heck was wrong with me?

When I read, on the first page of Lean Out, “One of the great challenges of my life is that I have never had the stamina to match my enthusiasm…I’m a sprinter, not a marathoner…I inevitably get weary and worn out. I can’t keep up the pace. And then I get a lung infection.” I knew I had found a kindred spirit. ME TOO TARA! I screamed. MY STAMINA SUCKS TOO! BUT BOY DO I HAVE GREAT IDEAS!

What occurred was this: after years in education, the accumulative weight of being privy to trauma-based disclosures, witnessing the results and internalizing this sorrow, and feeling powerless to change systemic shortcomings all piled up in my depleted body. I was bedridden for good reason. My exhausted immune system did what it inevitably does in cases of chronic stress: attacked the host it was meant to protect.

Push the Pause Button.

You are not shatterproof.

There were days I was so swollen I could barely move. I cursed my failing body and cried at the futility of past attempts to manage my weak constitution. I could write a tome about this, but suffice to say (for now) I was a hot mess. I was diagnosed with a smattering of possible autoimmune conditions and told there was not a whole lot that could be done.

I knew that if I didn’t slow down and take stock of what was happening, I may not live to see 50. This was my second wake-up call and I predicted I would not live through a third. Moringa powder alone wouldn’t be able to fix this mess.

It was evident that my body would heal in its own good time, and there was not much I could do to speed that along. My chronic case of Get’erdonetosis was the first thing I needed to address. Get’erdone became Getabitdone-maybe.

Anticlimactic fast track summary: In 2019, I chose to leave full-time teaching. I got professional help for my broken heart and spirit which was a critical part of my healing. It took awhile.

I had to leave a lot behind. I regret none of it.

Wilderness

A desolate terrain may materialize when we decide to change course.

I have heard it referenced as The Space Between No Longer and Not Yet. Maybe you have heard of it. Maybe you are there right now.

This is the place where the path forward is unclear. Usual coping strategies do not work here: action and busyness fail to magically reveal the roadmap desperately sought.

I found myself in this scary place while beached and swollen in bed, concluding that I needed to make some pretty big changes. Who was I if not a teacher? Why could I not fathom an identity other than that of my professional title? And who the hell was I anyway?

I had no idea where I was going so could not research or plan. Not a comfortable state as I love me some good plans. Plans are safe. Plans mean nothing will go wrong. I also married a man who loves plans and CAD drawings more than I do; how was he going to react?

As body had revolted and heart had sent out distress signals that needed serious addressing, I was forced into a state of suspended animation. Any energy I did conjure up, I wasted on cursing and wailing.

The Exorcist comes to mind. I am no movie buff or cinephile but there has to be hidden meaning in all those gruesome scenes other than your run-of-the-mill possession. Learning to trust, and have faith that all would be well, felt a lot like being boiled from the inside out. I hope I smelled better than a demon-infected host, but even thinking back on this time makes me shudder.

It was only after total surrender, throwing my hands up and hoarsely yelling, Fine! Someone else can take these f*cking reins!, that a plan slowly started to reveal itself. This happened according to a much bigger Intelligence. Certainly not mine.

The desolate terrain where I languished on the periphery of real life – action-packed, productive life – started to feel comfortable. The silence was a soothing balm where body and mind were able to find peace. Burning red and scorching yellow became restful green and tranquil blue.

It was during this time of rest that Chi Pie began to form. I knew the concepts were nothing new, but the image I kept seeing was like a little lightbulb flickering to life again.

More on that to follow.