Some have said I have a tendency to overcommit.

A mentor once made the observation regarding my proclivity to refuse the acceptance of my own limitations that when I set a goal I go blind to my limitations. Here are a few examples:

  • Deciding to not let the fact I only trained up to 9 miles prevent me from running (please know I am using the term “running” loosely) a marathon [All those present will remember my post race “duck walk” of 2018].
  • Deciding to homeschool my 1st grader while finishing graduate school with a toddler at home while working full time during a pandemic [It lasted a month, and day drinking was involved].
  • Deciding I would hand-tame a VERY aggressive macaw with no formal bird handling experience [The goal was achieved, but the price was significant scarring on my right arm].
  • Deciding I would start a small business in an industry foreign to me, double the size in a year while functioning as admin, trainer, and manager [Several stress-induced ER trips were involved].

Once I say I am going to do something I believe fully in that moment that I am capable of doing it, and the more times I prove I can pull the Energizer Bunny out of my hat and power through despite the odds my ego (and denial of limitations) is fueled. There has always been a part of me that loves seeing how far I can push myself regardless of the cost to my health, emotional state, or, worst of all, my family. I have been far more committed to the appearance of health than actual health, both internally and externally.

Meet by BFF Icarus.

2020 has been a series of humbling magic trick attempts I fumbled through with my limitations painfully clear to all but shocking only to me. I can no longer do it. I can’t keep up with my former pace. God mercifully let me experience the melting of my wax wings. As I write this, I am about four weeks behind on my master’s thesis with a meeting with my advisor on Thursday, and this actual dialogue went through my mind, “It will be fine. I will just work through the night, pull a 15-hour day, and recover over the weekend.” Then I thought, “You might be truly insane.”

How was a suggestion of being mentally ill helpful?

It is said the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over again and expecting a different result. My best friend (not actually Icarus) demonstrates her love for me by speaking an abundance of affirmations but shows her true loyalty when speaking hard truths when necessary. She and I had a conversation in the midst of the 2020 whirlwind that had become my life that basically boiled down to asking if I had considered the possibility I could be bipolar. This was an interesting concept I was curious about.

One of the fun things about being in graduate school for mental health is you self-diagnose yourself multiple times throughout the process of studying the DSM. After a symptom review I concluded that while they could put my picture in the OCD section, I do not meet the diagnostic criteria for bipolar I or II. Still, I was a little taken aback by her suggestion. But from her perspective, it was a fair question. She has witnessed me for years make extreme course corrections in my all-in or all-out way of being. I burn it at both ends on one of my quests to accomplish something big or too many small somethings all at once, and then I am exhausted. My middle ground is missing. I go careening back and forth across the chasm on a rope swing between overdoing and flatlining fatigue before pushing back off again. I have a roller coaster side to my energy level, and it was fair for her to wonder if there could be a physiological/psychological component to it.

NOTE: I want to take a moment here to make the point that all of us have the potential for sickness in any part of our body, including the brain, so this was not asked out of a place of shaming or from the unfair stigma that so often surrounds mental illnesses like bipolar. Mental illness is not a character flaw. It is not a failing of faith in God either. My OCD anxiety (more on this later) has helped me learn so much more about how deeply God loves me in my fragility.

“It’s fine.”

A universal tell for a human in distress & denial is the statement, “It’s fine.” That is, as my 6-year-old says, “opposite talk.” I have NEVER said that phrase and meant it. But for years, it was a staple response when asked about my life. What most didn’t hear was my 2nd most common saying saved for only a lucky few ( bestie, husband & mom), “I’M SO STRESSED OUT!!!!!” Now that lucky few has extended to you. Congrats. The truth is I am not fine. I am exhausted. I am fresh out of rabbits for my hat. And being to say that is really, really good. It’s healthy.

It’s time to change the pattern (again).

The journey of deciding to let go of the rope, drop down, and explore the middle ground must continue. It’s funny I wrote about this years ago in an earlier post and it is crazy how slow the process of letting go has been. But every inch I descend away from my ideal self and closer to the person God truly made me to be feels good. Feels sustainable. That’s a new concept for me.