In my school days, I got up as late as I could, skipped breakfast, and ran to the school bus just in time to get on. After attending classes, I stayed after school for the rehearsal or practice of one thing or another, then got home to a plate of dinner being kept warm in the oven (these were the pre-microwave days!) — and started all over again the next day. Weekends were for performances, games, matches, competitions, and concerts. Oh, for the “rigors” of school days, right?
MS Has Sapped More Than the Energy of Youth
Now, as I’ve slipped past the halftime show of life and multiple sclerosis (MS) has been a tapeworm on my existence for more than half the adult portion of that life, I wouldn’t have the energy or ability for one day’s worth of that activity spread across a fortnight. In fact, I now find myself giving in to what I call the “MS throwaway day,” which, I suppose, is the chronic illness adult version of the mental health day. You know the days: There’s plenty to be done, but there isn’t even enough fuel in the tank to get the body to a filling station (oh, and if it were only that easy!). Most things in my life are no longer the modern version of hunting food, gathering water, building shelter, and clothing myself — though it could be said that the simple act of dressing on a throwaway day seems to take as much time and energy as it would to sheer the sheep, spin the wool, and weave my own cloth. RELATED: ‘Mind Yourself’ During Mental Health Awareness Month
Permission to ‘Not’
These are days I give myself permission to “not.” To not push the envelope or reach for the edges of ability. To not stress about what isn’t going to get done. Not judge shortcomings. Not feel less than. Not beat myself up for a lack of trying. Not be the hero who wins his medal of valor posthumously. I will fight those battles with myself another day. I will, undoubtably, do all those listed things another day. It wouldn’t be uncommon to do them all in one day. But on throwaway days, it’s into the bin with them.
What I Do on ‘Throwaway Days’
The self-care of a throwaway day takes a number of shapes. In fact, it is a shapeless care that might be thought of as an equal and opposite reaction to whatever of those things I am not doing. It’s sitting on a bench and watching others get in their morning walks rather than pushing myself to do it. Ordering a healthy takeaway (maybe even an unhealthy one!) rather than cooking. Changing into clean pajamas after a shower rather than street clothes. Maybe not even taking that shower until before bed that night … Throwaway days are all about minding myself, because we mind so much more than that so often. Particularly as I read responses to our holidays post, in which readers described paying the piper not only for the dances the whole family had, but also for those that they themselves could not dance. If, as some had relayed, you had to duck out of the dinner you had cooked for everyone because you were too tired to eat, and woke to a still dirty kitchen to clean … you deserve a throwaway day (and the family needs a stern talking to!)
Giving Ourselves a Break May Give Others a Break, Too
Throwaway days are for us. They aren’t for family, friends, coworkers, or anyone else, save, perhaps, our care partners. Funny, when I think about it: The days when I give myself a break are often the days when Caryn can breathe easier as well. Maybe that will be enticement to those who are having a hard time with the idea of giving themselves a throwaway day. Remember, when you ask for help, you are also giving the gift of allowing someone to help. When we give ourselves a throwaway day, we’re also giving one to those who help us when (and after) we push ourselves too hard. Wishing you and your family the best of health. Cheers, Trevis
