We keep a few small, plastic discs in the freezer — a baseball shape, a football — to chill packed lunches.
Sometimes, they are my only relief from a headache.
As my husband and I headed back to central Pennsylvania from Florida last week, my head throbbed. Two ibuprofen got me through the flight home.
But despite a restful sleep, the pounding in my crown and forehead was back with a vengeance on Sunday morning.
Sensory overload. The schlepp to the airport, driving in heavy traffic, the Florida heat shock to my pasty white Northern skin.
My grinding mind.
A self-imposed deadline is fast-approaching. I’m not as far along as I’d like to be. Panic creeps in. Shallow breathing, tight, queasy belly. Here we go.
Maybe I should just give up? Take myself off the hook, and return to my comfort zone. That just hurt more.
I put it all on ice, under that small, frozen disc, and let myself lay on the couch for awhile, soaking up the quiet peace of being home.
The next morning, I was back at the desk, feeling inspired and ready to roll.
10 Ways to Get Unstuck
Stop and drop. Pain is a shout out from my system that it’s out of whack and needs attention. I play through discomfort — but not intense pain. That lands me on the couch with an ice pack.
Stop thinking. Start feeling. Sometimes the best solution is to stop thinking about one. Start breathing, as deeply as you can. Pay attention to senses. If you are on sensory overload, find those earbuds and pipe in something calm and soothing. If not, pay attention to senses: the quiet stillness, the light, the blue sky, the softness of a quilt, the scent of wood burning in the woodstove.
Routine. Your routine is there for a reason. It works for you. Our Sunday morning church service leaves me feeling nourished, and so I rallied off the couch and into the shower. I slipped into the pew beside my husband just moments before our service started. It definitely helped me hit the re-set button. If your routine is not working for you, tweak it. Not all at once. Just one thing. This also means permission to exercise flexibility. Grocery shopping just felt like too much that Sunday, so I found some time on Monday.
Put the phone down. Seriously. Yes, a useful tool. I can be away from my desk and still keep projects moving. It’s also a screeching monkey, poking holes in my brain because it constantly interrupts real connection, in-person conversations and thoughts. I catch myself on that darn phone doing things that can either wait, are hardly more important than experiencing the people and scenery around me — or, are just completely unnecessary. Just. Stop.
Stop the madness. Turn it over. Put it down. Leave it there. Please.
Self-care: Walk. Tight muscles often lead to my headaches. Finally, we’ve had enough warm days here to melt the snow and ice on my favorite trail in the woods. So the big dog and I walked my favorite ridge trail, soaking in the sunshine. The kinks and knots in my body released with every step.
Self-care: Sleep. I’m not a good napper. But I know most of the time when I don’t feel good, I’m tired. “There’s a cure for that, hon!” the hubs reminds me. Twenty minutes on the couch, even if I never fall asleep, makes a difference. Then I vow to put myself to bed early.
Self-care: Drink a lot of water. Then some more. I detest the plastic waste of water bottles. Somehow, it’s much easier — but no less wasteful — to reach for a coffee or diet soda, until my brain aches.
Leverage the positive. Half-empty or half-full? I can freak out about the work left to do, or note the research that’s done — which is more than I had a few weeks ago. Progress is being made. Never as fast as I’d like … Yet progress nonetheless.
The timer is your friend. Writers often have trouble getting started. Nothing is more terrifying than the blank page, they say. I won’t stare at that empty page for long. Over many years as a pro writer, I’ve trained myself to set the timer for 10, 20, 30 minutes and just get something down. I can fix it later. The key is to just get started. By Sunday afternoon, after the ice pack and the walk and the nap and a lot of water, I set the timer for 2 hours, started a new thread of research, found some interesting information and very soon knew what to do next.
Take the next best step. Don’t get snaggled up on steps 3, 4 & 5. All you have to do is identify the next best step, then take it.
Finally, gratitude. Always gratitude. Every day of the year, there is much to be grateful for. Even pain holds lessons. Onward.
Here’s the thing: Making new stuff is hard. Putting yourself and ideas out there, opening yourself up to rejection is hard.
Yet, that’s the gig. For many of us, that’s the deal, that’s the mission.
You’ve heard a call, and answered. Now you just have to keep going.
The only answer is to take the next best step. And when you can’t, your biggest job is to take care of yourself and get back in the game so you can.
I’ve never been an athlete, but live with three others here in the Man Cave. My hubs and stepsons are either resting, relaxing, working, playing or on the move. No wallowing. No whining.
They keep me on my toes. In the moment, when I’m struggling to catch up to them, I’m admittedly more sour than grateful. Yet, never down for long. Turn the page. Tomorrow is a new day.
And ultimately, immensely grateful for this life.
