I am all worked out. Not in the way you’re thinking.
The last couple of months at my full time job have been scary and busy as fuck and have sent me plummeting into the murky depths of the grubhub/doordash/postmates menu options because they have been so draining that I haven’t even cooked in my own kitchen. The gym has forgotten what I look like and I’ve been wearing my leggings TO WORK. I know leggings are not pants (at least, that’s what I tell myself so I don’t make them a permanent wardrobe staple) but that is where we are right now. Sleep? What’s that? My whole body is responding to stress and I haven’t stopped to take care of it.
Then a few days ago, I did a thing. I got groceries. I cancelled every plan to go somewhere for drinks so I could rant and bitch about my job to my friends. I got in my kitchen and I cooked one meal. Just one. One simple meal that I’ve cooked before: roasted chicken, simple greens, rice and beans. I made enough to eat it that night and then for a few more lunches. I ate one serving very deliberately and it felt good to take care of myself in that way.
It wasn’t a deadlift PR, or a pounding dance class, or even an indulgent massage, but it was me trying to work back to a routine that is good for me in ways that extend beyond a moment. Right now, it’s important for me not to let work stress outweigh the balance I’m creating for myself. That doesn’t mean that I am perfectly dealing with every stressor every single time but it does mean that I am going to celebrate the small wins: cooking myself dinner, waking up on time, taking the stairs. These wins will keep adding up and turn into weekly meal prepping, early rising to stretch, regular workouts. Even if they don’t amount to that, it’s totally alright. The point is that I’ll keep listening to my body above the silent screaming I engage in when I hide under my desk.
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