It Only Hurts When I Sit Down

Aging your way through life, in my opinion, should come with self-reflection, self-awareness, and constant growth. Have you learned anything about yourself lately? I’ve discovered much about myself in the last seven years, and yet I am QUITE certain there are still many, many nuggets to mine. I will never complete the task, but I hope I will never stop trying. I fully understand you may not think I know a darn thing about myself, and that’s ok. I realize this, and it pushes me onward toward the painful dig.

I mentioned in a previous post that I definitely have discovered that I run when I’m most stressed, and I write for therapy when I need to “let it out.” Both of which I hope to continue into the future, but by choice, not by stress induction.

But, I learned something else today.

I should never sit down.

Sounds a little obscure, or too absolute, (you should never use the word never), or something of the sort that doesn’t make sense, yet you’re sure there’s a story behind it.  And, you would be correct.  So I shall share.  Remember, you don’t have to read this.  Don’t be mad at me if you don’t like it.  You can walk away.

I stand for a living.  People who don’t stand all day don’t really have a full appreciation for it. Anyone can do it, you just have to build your tolerance. After 27 years, I’d say I have it down-pat.

But that’s not exactly what I’m talking about.  Though it makes for a lovely metaphor.

Let’s continue.

The first time I really experienced this phenomenon was when I lived in Orlando.  We had put our belongings into storage.  A small house-worth of furniture and stuff, strategically stacked and maneuvered into a 15’x20′ metal building, fortunately near the exterior door.  When I tell you it was like a jenga puzzle in there, I ain’t lyin’. But some of it had to come out.  We were moving into a new dorm (long story) and it was only partially furnished. The storage facility was less than a mile from our new place, which meant I didn’t have to work so hard at securing anything, which was good because I had almost no rope, no bungees, no nothing.  It was creativity at it’s finest.

Move in day was also my husband’s first day of work, so it was up to me.  No provision had been made for movers, or help of any kind, apparently it was assumed I’d handle it all, so I was the crew.  When I returned to Orlando from Tallahassee, I had my work cut out for me. It was central-Florida-hot, I was tired and frustrated (to say the least), and had no help.  I’m stubborn, stronger than I look, and physically capable.  I was going to move this if it killed me.  It almost did.

I had a short-bed pick up truck and that was it.  The fact that the dorm was a mile from the storage was the best part of it.  I must’ve made twenty or thirty trips around the block that day, with that little truck loaded to the gills.  But, to get to the things I was taking out of storage, I had to move things around.  That started the landslide of emotions; it was brutal.

Along with all the boxes, decor, and miscellaneous items, there was over-sized living room furniture, and things like a china cabinet and cedar chest.  Everything was large, and everything was heavy. And remember that jenga stacking? I had to get creative – really, really creative.  The over-sized chair was upside down at the top of the stack and the ottoman on top of it. I had to get it down to be able to get other things from behind.  It was all too heavy for me to just take it down, so I set up a strategically designed system to lower it.  One mattress on the floor, on mattress up-ended on top of the first, I pulled the ottoman onto the edge of the upright, guided the mattress to fold in half and lower the ottoman, and then guided it to the floor.  Success. I could then drag the ottoman out of the way.  Set up the mattress system again, and did the same with the chair.  Success again.  I rigged systems like this all day long in order to un-stack the stacks and get what was needed.  Did I mention it was central-Florida-hot?  In a metal building? With no help?

I know this is dragging on, but I need you to be in just a fraction of the misery I was in that day, in hopes that you can even with a fractions worth understand why I should never sit down.

All these things – living room chairs, boxes, mattresses – I had to load onto the truck.  The smaller things were no problem at all.  The nice, large chairs were quite the challenge, but I made it.  Each round wearing me out all the more, and wearing me down to the core.  I was sinking.  So I sat down.  That was the beginning of the end.

Every time I sat down, knowing I needed 30 seconds to rest, I had an uncontrollable physiological reaction.  I burst into tears and couldn’t breathe.  I was stunned at myself.  Who are you?!?! Why are you doing this?!?! Get yourself together!!!  As soon as I stood up and started working again, it would immediately stop.  As long as I was in motion, not sitting, I was fine.  The second I sat, I was not.  It was frightening and deep.  I was scared.

This happened several times.  I knew not to sit down, and yet the exhaustion was taking over. I needed to sit down. I had to, and I did, and I came apart all over again. I’d get up, put another load on the truck, drive it around, unload it, repeat.  I loaded all the heavy things, alone.  The furniture, alone.  The king size mattress, alone. Did you hear me??? I took a king size mattress out of storage and loaded it onto the truck, alone. I was done.  You lost me at king size mattress.

After the second or third come-apart episode hit, I texted an old friend. Actually, she’s the mother of an old friend, but she’s that special kind of woman that is friend to all generations.  She graciously walked me through that day, and I will always be grateful to her for how she loved me so well.

I should have never sat down.

This has happened a couple times since then.  Not worth the stories; you’ve heard enough of my bellyaching. Save one.

It happened again today, and caught me completely off guard.  I was shocked at myself, and not in a position to let myself go.  I had to hold myself together. I was on a little vacation and ended up in this beautiful old chapel in the woods.  The stained glass windows were breathtaking, and there was a man playing so beautifully on the pipe organ. There were a few other folks there enjoying the scene and I was able to take some lovely photos of the chapel.  Then it happened.  I sat down.  With absolutely no warning of any emotional upheaval whatsoever, an overwhelming wave swept over me from floor to curls and I was once again undone.  Paralyzed by the shock, it took me several moments to be able to move.  I stood up, perplexed and on the verge of dismay.  What just happened?!?! Why did this just happen?!?! I can’t let this happen.

(My life is GOOD. But there are stressful events of a different sort that I’m not going to share just yet.  Suffice, when I do eventually share, you’ll understand.  Trust me, you’ll understand.)

As soon as I could, I stood up and began to walk away from that spot.  Mind racing, face certainly showing surprise, muscles quivering.  In my mind I was talking myself out of a meltdown, distracting myself with anything I could.  In my chest feeling my heart beat heavy, ready to run, get me out of here.  Not a panic attack at all, but a deep need to let the stress out.  My body is smarter than I.

I did manage to hold it in, tell myself to save it for another day, realize I need to call my counselor.  At some point I have to let myself be ok with the tears that come at any given moment, especially when I sit down.  I’m not so sure that today is that day.  Probably not tomorrow, either.