My life on the floor
Stop. Slow down. Repeat. None of this is guaranteed. None of it.
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This morning I was in my bathroom when I bent down to throw something away and felt it happen - the ripple of pain going through my lower back, I fell to my knees as the world went black. I gripped the toliet and the sink to try and brace my fall. The pain searing through my low back, feeling as low someone was trying to pull apart my muscle tissue. It happened in slow motion, although the entire event lasted no more than 30 seconds. As the world came back into focus I knew something was wrong. I crawled the 5 feet to my bedroom and laid on the floor. I texted my boss asking for doctor recommendations, my mom for medical recommendations, my boyfriend (who is currently on assignment in southern California) for any form of moral support he could give thousands of miles away. I took to WebMd to decipher what might be happening. Eventually the pain overtook me and I began to just cry, sob actually, on my bedroom floor. I kept thinking one thought over and over again, "I wonder if this means I won't be able to go to my 75 minute yoga class?!?!?".
What.the.fuck.
I've made no secret of my type A personality. I like things in order, I like a plan, I like to know what's happening, why it's happening. I had my day planned perfectly. I slept in, caught up on sleep. I was going to get up and eat some breakfast, do some packing, and go to that 75 minute hot yoga class at noon that I haven't been able to go to in weeks due to my schedule. I was going to come back and finish packing, go to work, and then come home and go to bed before my flight tomorrow. Laying on my bedroom floor in agonizing pain while googling the nearest urgent care and deciphering if I had a brain tumor or shingles off WebMd was not in the plan. Quite frankly, this was complete bullshit.
As tears streamed down my face I hoisted myself up off my floor and ever so slowly walked to my car. There was no one to take me to the doctor, so I had to put on my big girl panties and do it myself. I wouldn't advise this to anyone, but I rarely follow the advice I give others. I used every ounce of mind over matter and all the yogic breathing I've learned over the years to over come the pain and dizziness. The doctor quickly diagnosed it as muscle spasms. She gave me a shot in the butt for the pain and prescribed a cocktail of muscle relaxers, motrin, and narcotics. She was quick to add "do not drink while taking any of this". I deadpan said "I'm not drinking this month...wait...maybe THAT'S why this happened". She laughed. So did I. Sort of.
I gave up drinking as an experiment of sorts. I rarely drink during the week, but do love wine and champagne (as anyone who follows my instagram knows) and look forward to happy hours and date nights with my boyfriend. I've always thought 30 days was far too long to go without any form of alcohol. But I wanted to see if I could do it and if I did what would happen. I assumed the world would shine brighter and the grass would look greener. I also expected to drop 15 pounds instantly and look waifishly thin. None of this happened. The world still looks the same and I might have dropped 3 pounds. But I do sleep better and I'm less anxious. So it's not a complete loss. But as I'm marching towards my 30 day mark of no alcohol, today's fall reminded me of one very important lesson - none of this is guaranteed. I can do everything right - go to yoga 5x a week, make the 75 minute class even, eat healthy, not drink, plan my entire life, get 8 hours of sleep - and then I can be doing something as simple as throwing away trash and my entire body can give out in seconds causing a day's worth of pain.
I can get so caught up in doing all of the things I'm supposed to do, all of the things I need to do, that I forget to listen to my body and do what it's asking me to do. Sit down. Skip yoga. Go for a run, but not a long one. Eat a cookie today, maybe not tomorrow. Have a glass of wine, not two (or four). I dislike the word moderation because it sounds limiting. But I do like satisfied. I need to do more satisfying things for my body and less for my ambitiously driven mind.
A couple weeks ago my boyfriend had a weekend off from his job. We went to his favorite rooftop bar and drank way too much champagne. We stayed for hours and watched the sunset. We had planned to make dinner that night and I was really looking forward to it. As the hours passed at the bar I caught myself looking at my watch and wanting to hurry up and go. As my boyfriend got us another round at the bar, I looked out over downtown Portland and the sun setting over the river causing a glistening that radiated over the buildings. As he came back and wrapped his arms around me with my favorite drink in hand I couldn't help but smile and forget all about that other plan. The to-do list went away. The need to stick to a plan faded. The joy of being with my favorite person at our favorite place took over. Satisfied.
I got nothing done off of my to do list today. Not even the breakfast part. I ended up eating frozen yogurt while waiting for my prescription to get filled. And you know what? It was the best fucking breakfast ever. Satisfying and exactly what my body was wanting.
**This was written under the influence of a lot of hydrocodone + muscle relaxers (recommended for anyone not drinking :)