Today is my 15th day in a row working, hackathoning, or conference-attending without a day off. I’ll be at 17 before I have a much-needed long weekend off.
I’m exhausted. Physically I’m ok, but my mental and emotional stores have run out. I had a total meltdown on Saturday night because of a perceived slight. I starting crying during dinner last night, in public. I’m extra sensitive and defensive, barely capable of fighting those feelings off.
I really don’t want to be at work today. I want to be at home, lying on the couch with my dog, binge watching One Tree Hill and shoving Bitesquad-delivered burritos into my face.
“I love you, but you’re being a BFB,” my boyfriend said to me. BFB = Big Fucking Baby. It’s accurate, and I deserve it. I’ve needed a lot of emotional support in the last week. He’s put up with a lot from me.
I’m not writing this to complain. I think it’s good for me to acknowledge, publicly, where my boundaries are. I feel a lot of guilt and shame about having such a low tolerance for being busy; I am a true introvert and have needed to crawl into a dark hole and decompress since two Fridays ago. Weekends are precious to me, not because of what I can fill them with but because having the option to do absolutely nothing for two days a week is crucial for my self-care. Unfortunately I haven’t been able to have my nothing because of ~commitments and responsibilities~ and I’d rather suffer than shirk on the things I’ve signed up for.
So I don’t like it, BUT I’M FUCKING DOING IT.
I got up at 7 this morning and took my dog for a run. I biked into work instead of taking the bus. I’m at work now, using my breaks between projects to write this all down.
This morning I added an accessible feature to a form I built, debugged some PHP, and collaboratively solved a logic problem with my producer. This afternoon I’m going to finish the Angular.js tutorial I started last week. I’m going to look into all the things I learned about at WordCamp this past weekend. I’m going to send an estimate to a freelance client.
The only reason I’m able to stay productive at this point is that I’ve been honest with myself about how I’m feeling and what I need. I’m prone to being spiky and getting frustrated more easily, so I’m taking my time with things. I’m drinking a lot of water and going for walks when things start to feel overwhelming. I’m giving myself permission to lay low. If I have to cry in the bathroom for 5 minutes, then whatever, I will cry in the bathroom for 5 minutes. It’s ok, it’s ok, it’s ok.
I’m not giving into this, I’m busting the fuck through it.