It’s been a wild four weeks.
My mystery illness is now being called anxietus-summerus, or honey you got too much going on, and you’re stomach is the one telling you so. Makes it hard to over eat to check out, when you can’t eat. I stopped drinking coffee too. Water, and toast, and applesauce for a good four weeks.
I had fantasies of a nineteenth century version of me, with a giant parasol waving a tearful adieu to my family with my embroidered hankie, on my way to the solarium by way of the train.
[Ah to be a wealthy, over anxious white woman a hundred years ago. Talk about white mind-that is a perfect example. Meaning, solarium’s weren’t even available to women of color who needed to recuperate for physical or mental health reasons. For more on white mind, and what that means allow me to link you here again, or another great one I just reread again is Peggy McIntosh’s Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack. Which we’re reading for the workshop, and is linked at Annie O’Brien’s White Mind II post above,.]
So, yes. Too much on my plate, again. Organizing a two-day adoption workshop with a speaker across the country, having the kids home five days a week, several small trips to islands, and lakes, various writing deadlines, working with the city on three separate occasions to get rather mountainous heaps of garbage removed from neglected properties on my street, and navigating my own feelings of grief around two treasured families leaving town within days of each other…and I found myself bordering on the belly up. As in, nauseous for a month. In this time, my mom came with the intention of her own vacation from the oppressive Washington DC heat to see the grandbabies, and her daughter for a sweet Maine getaway. Instead she got me moaning in one room with a headache, and the boys asking if she brought any more presents. She changed course and took over as Nana Banana Super Bo Banna, allowing me some much needed rest. But that nice dinner out, just the two of us? We had to take a rain check for when I had my stomach back.
Am I better? Yes.
Can I eat? Yes (And how. So much for that impressive temporary weight loss.)
The secret: talking about it with folks, acupuncture and saying no, I can’t do that right now, or maybe ever, for that matter. I am doing enough at the moment. Medicinal bridges were built temporarily, until it became apparent, they weren’t necessary. Allowing myself to see what was going on, and on and on seemed to be the answer. I say seemed, because there is still a hint of this and that, and I want to be sure.
I enjoyed a powerful exchange over at Moms of Hue, as a result of a post I wrote about a weekend away with the boys. The words I used to describe Sam’s behavior was in question. I talk about him being “mad” over and over. The words and the expectation I have of his behavior were questioned. Specifically, I was asked to examine my own set of beliefs around Black boys and Black men and anger. I felt defensive as hell, until I looked at the words, and the assumptions in my thinking. Then I started to question all of it–even my own predisposition to worry and concern.
I am still learning from the exchange, and feel wildly open to the process, which is in itself a gift, and a shift. Please check out the piece, and stay there awhile! It has been nominated for a 2010 Black Family Weblog Award, which you can vote for too!
OK time to wash and cut Marcel’s hair (do I dare?) and get more flyers together, and wake #1, and get to the swim lesson, and the noon time concert that the Godmother is performing at, and then to the library to sign the contract for the workshop space, and then….
Will I ever learn?
What are you doing to relax this weekend?