Dead tired

A woman who suffers from a chronic illness or disability often finds herself at the end of "normals'" ideas of being tired. We are often looked at with contempt for being so tired that we can't perform our daily duties properly. Or that we have to go to bed early, rise late, or cancel social engagements at the last minute. We are not lazy. 

Before Corona, we were regarded with suspicion when we couldn't make it to church regularly and people harshly judged our spiritual health, deeming us backslidden.  Emotional and spiritual hurt exacerbates our ill state. We feel worse and they lack compassion.

Often we have to cancel doctors' appointments because we are too sick to get there. We find we can't drive and even if we could, we haven't got the strength to even get washed and dressed. It is not unheard of that some of us have crumpled in the shower, unable to get out and totally winded...

Our "tired" goes far beyond a sleepiness or drowsy feeling. We are so fatigued that breathing is too much effort and not for the first time we are grateful it's automatic.

Furthermore, our "tired" is not helped by a nanna nap or even 9 hours of sleep.  We fight our illness and pain even in our dreams and wake up unrefreshed and have to face another day when we haven't recuperated from the day before. We simply have run out of spoons.

"Tired" is overused and doesn't come close to the bone sucking quagmire of desperate fatigue we chronically ill people find ourselves sinking into constantly.  To have "normals" flippantly say, "Me too!" when we tell them we are tired invalidates us and makes us long for their brand of tiredness that can be restored through a good sleep.

We cannot even enjoy a shower or bath to help us sleep as the effort it takes to do this not only drains us of whatever energy we can find, but does not always bring a restorative sleep. Just muscle pain.

Such is my own pain on going to bed that I find I cannot place my arms anywhere comfortable. My fibromyalgia and polymyalgia rheumatica make it impossible to raise my arms upwards and extending them hurts my muscles and tendons. So I go to sleep with my arms folded on my chest.

I indeed look like a cadaver which has been laid out and testifies somewhat to the feeling of being dead in my tracks.  Because that's the type of exhaustion we face every day: we truly feel dead tired.

© Glenys Robyn Hicks

Cast me not off in the time of old age; forsake me not when my strength faileth. Psalm 71:9

Clean enough to be healthy

I have had a perfectionist streak all my life, but in the last twenty or so years of ill health, I have had to learn to be content with a more relaxed approach to my home making.

Where once I would be consumed with (false) guilt because I made our bed without four corner tucks or I had the blankets bumpy on the bed, I have had to make do with a more lenient approach. I simply don't have the energy to do four corner tucks. However, even the bed made up quickly and sporting a lump here or there, is extremely satisfying to me now that I've gotten past the perfectionism.

Mornings are no longer the time for house keeping. I have to fit in what I can over however long it takes me... and be content at the end of the day that I actually got it done...

I no longer allow cleaning schedules to dictate to me what I must achieve in any given day or time frame: it gets done more or less within the schedule but on a time of my choosing. It's the only way a Sacrificial Home Keeper can manage..

In saying that I am no longer a perfectionist, I still like to live in a clean home. For me, there are basic things that are not negotiable. I cannot live my life happily unless these things are clean:

I must be clean.

My clothes must be clean.

My bed must be fresh and clean.

My dishes and cooking utensils must be clean.

I can't stand smelly toilets and these and my bathroom must be clean.

These days I need help to maintain this list of essentials.  I do not go into a spin if a fly has died on my window ledge or there is some dust on my furniture. I have learned to accept white cat fur as a part of being a mother to a white cat. The floors can be in need of a vacuum, but I now have Roombas to do them.  It has been years since I ironed something that only I will see... and I learned years ago that one can sleep on unironed pillowcases... it can be done!

I find cooking, shopping, menu and social planning, washing and folding of clothes, managing finances and being a loving wife to my husband is enough for me to cope with. I know from experience over the years that by not pacing myself, I will crash and burn and my recovery time will need more than an occasional nana nap...

Accepting our limitations is an important part of staying calm in a world that has become anything but. And for most of us Sacrificial Home Keepers, our world is our home. 

One final thought that helped me was remembering what our family doctor once said to me when my children were young: "A home should be clean enough to be healthy, but untidy enough to be happy!"  I am trusting that I have at last put his advice into action.

© Glenys Robyn Hicks

God is my strength and power: and he maketh my way perfect. 2 Samuel 22:33

I'm my own worst enemy!

When I have no spoons or motivation to do housework, I often watch Youtube videos of people cleaning their home. Sometimes it works and I feel that I can get something done.

This can sometimes go against me because often the videos are of women half my age, with no disabilities and therefore no need to worry about spoons or flares or having to take a nana nap.

They seem to be cleaning houses that are already immaculate and they make it look so easy. Their homes outshine mine in every way, and so does their appearance. It can make me more depressed if I am in a flare of fibromyalgia, trying to get motivated to clean and teetering at the edge of the Pit of Despair. 

So I have to take Chris's advice and remember that I am an older woman with chronic health issues and try not to compare myself with them. But the desire to kindle a spark of motivation is strong and I find myself gravitating to those videos like a moth to a flame. And often it only makes me feel worse!

Sometimes, I think I'm my own worst enemy! 

We aren't just tired: we're dead tired

A woman who suffers from a chronic illness or disability often finds herself at the end of "normals'" ideas of being tired. We are often looked at with contempt for being so tired that we can't perform our daily duties properly. Or that we have to go to bed early, rise late, or cancel social engagements at the last minute. We are not lazy. 

Before Corona, we were regarded with suspicion when we couldn't make it to church regularly and people harshly judged our spiritual health, deeming us backslidden.  Emotional and spiritual hurt exacerbates our ill state. We feel worse and they lack compassion.

Often we have to cancel doctors' appointments because we are too sick to get there. We find we can't drive and even if we could, we haven't got the strength to even get washed and dressed. It is not unheard of that some of us have crumpled in the shower, unable to get out and totally winded...

Our "tired" goes far beyond a sleepiness or drowsy feeling. We are so fatigued that breathing is too much effort and not for the first time we are grateful it's automatic.

Furthermore, our "tired" is not helped by a nanna nap or even 9 hours of sleep.  We fight our illness and pain even in our dreams and wake up unrefreshed and have to face another day when we haven't recuperated from the day before. We simply have run out of spoons.

"Tired" is overused and doesn't come close to the bone sucking quagmire of desperate fatigue we chronically ill people find ourselves sinking into constantly.  To have "normals" flippantly say, "Me too!" when we tell them we are tired invalidates us and makes us long for their brand of tiredness that can be restored through a good sleep.

We cannot even enjoy a shower or bath to help us sleep as the effort it takes to do this not only drains us of whatever energy we can find, but does not always bring a restorative sleep. Just muscle pain.

Such is my own pain on going to bed that I find I cannot place my arms anywhere comfortable. My fibromyalgia and polymyalgia rheumatica make it impossible to raise my arms upwards and extending them hurts my muscles and tendons. So I go to sleep with my arms folded on my chest.

I indeed look like a cadaver which has been laid out and testifies somewhat to the feeling of being dead in my tracks.  Because that's the type of exhaustion we face every day: we truly feel dead tired.

© Glenys Robyn Hicks

Cast me not off in the time of old age; forsake me not when my strength faileth. Psalm 71:9