Monday Morning Moods

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I read an article in the e-zine I write for (Pagan Pages), about speaking with our morning spirits. I liked the article because it encourages you to address your own moods in a morning, and points out that it doesn’t matter whether you believe you’re talking to spirits, the divine or simply yourself; having that dialogue and understanding what’s going on with yourself can really help.
This morning I was going to leap out of bed and re launch myself as a new woman. As it is, I was three hours late getting up and in that time read a book, for pleasure, and did little that could be classified as work of any kind.

So what’s my morning dialogue? If I stop and ask myself what’s going on, what will I, or my morning spirits, answer?

This morning, they tell me, you’re achy. You’re sore. You did too much this weekend, and you had to take strong painkillers last night, and you’re now nursing the pharmaceutical equivalent of a hangover.

An accurate summation. I have fairly severe hypermobility, which can cause me some pretty intense joint pain. This often flares up even after very little exertion; something very frustrating for an ex athlete.

Yesterday I took my little boy to a party, and while he was going crazy I sat sedately and sipped a cold drink. However, the chairs were cold and metal, shaped for a posture that could not be achieved even by the most flexible and resilient of humans. As a result, by the time I arrived home my neck had stiffened, sending my shoulder into spasm. Hence painkillers and a good book.

OK voices, I know this. I know I’m in pain, but I could still get up and go outside, or do some writing, surely?

You’re depressed, they say. You feel like you should be doing more than you are, and that you are lazy. This depresses you, which prevents you doing anything, which in turn makes you feel lazier. You’re in a downwards spiral, and you need to snap a spike somewhere to stop the machinations.

This is spot on. Despite knowing I am unwell and deserving of rest, I don’t feel deserving of rest. I feel like I should work harder and harder, somehow fight the pain and fatigue. I feel like I should be ‘winning’, when in reality, a day where I keep the family alive and happy should count as a win.

Just do something, they say. It doesn’t matter if it’s not on one of the hundreds of lists you make for yourself. It doesn’t matter if you told yourself you ‘need’ to do 500 other things, when you were mad at yourself at 3am. Do something that will make you, or someone else, smile.

I’ll try, voices. I really will.

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