Bonus Points In The Second Half

Two weeks ago I felt the first flickers of a certain kind of energy that I haven’t felt in months.

No. Not that kind of energy (sorry to disappoint). Energy for work.

When Mike was diagnosed, just before New Years, I let go of any expectations I had regarding all the work I had planned for the first part of this year. We had 48 hours to pack up ourselves and the two little boys and leave Laos for Australia, and there’s been very little time in my schedule or my brain since then to think about updating websites, planning content, and writing books. In fact, whenever I thought about my work during the first eight weeks that we were here, it was mostly with a deep sense of gratitude that I wasn’t feeling pressured by professional deadlines in addition to surgery dates, trips to the oncology unit, and the needs of our baby and toddler.

Two weeks ago, however, I felt a familiar surge of desire. I suddenly found that I wanted to be working again, and I rode that wave of energy for days. I completely updated one of my long distance relationship books. I listened to some podcasts on marketing. I decided to re-title another book, and re-do its cover. I emailed my agent about an exciting new idea. I started to make to-do lists. I began to feel, just a little, like my normal self.

Then. This last week. I stalled, again.

This week I’ve been the sort of tired that makes the whole day flatten out and feel hazy. Getting through Dominic’s dinner-time, teeth-time, story-time, bed-time routine with patience intact has come to feel much more daunting a task than seems reasonable (even if Dominic does behave extravagantly and persistently unreasonable at least twice during the evening marathon). I’ve actively resented Alex for waking up multiple times a night, and been short with my mother when she tries to talk about sleep training over the breakfast table. Every time I’ve looked at my email inbox or my to-do lists, I’ve felt overwhelmed and depressed.

Glennon Doyle Melton of Momastery fame recently invited a handful of prominent bloggers to participate in a series she called The Sacred Scared. Each of these bloggers was asked to write a short piece on their deepest fear – the one they hide because they think that if anyone knew about it they wouldn’t love them anymore.

Almost without exception, everyone in this supremely talented and accomplished group wrote about how they’re scared they’re not enough – smart enough, thin enough, popular enough, successful enough, happy enough. Just… not enough. 

I get that. I often feel that I’m not enough. That I don’t do or say things that are meaningful enough. That I’m not focusing on the things that matter most. And, particularly in relation to work, that I don’t write well enough, or fast enough, or creatively enough, or just… enough.

For me, these aren’t fears I hide because they make me scared that others won’t love me. These thoughts do, however, threaten to undermine, or even destroy, my peace of mind and my love for myself.

I think that this re-awakening of the pressure I usually feel to “do enough” on multiple fronts has been part of what’s plagued me this week. Right after Mike was diagnosed it was more than enough to pack us all up and get us to Australia, to schedule appointments, and to see Mike through surgery. It was enough to process a Stage Three diagnosis. It was enough to get through round one of chemo, watch over the kids, and figure out the new normal that cancer would bring.

The magnitude of the challenge facing our family bred a curious luxury – the freedom to abdicate, guilt-free, on the writing and other tasks I usually feel I should be making progress on. In those first six shell-shocked weeks, I sometimes felt that I wasn’t coping very well, but I rarely felt like I wasn’t doing enough.

However, now that I’m starting to regain a flicker of interest for life outside the cancer bubble, I am also finding myself wanting to do more, to be more, beyond the immediate demands of the kids and the day. And right alongside that desire has come a familiar sense of pressure – the feeling that I should be able to accomplish more than celebrate/tolerate the toddler, breastfeed the baby, help keep things running around here, and track as best I can with Mike’s journey. But no matter how many optional extras I manage to hit on any given day, I rarely feel it’s enough. And when I think about everyone out there who is managing to weather cancer right alongside other significant pressures that we are not facing, I feel weak as well. Weak and pathetic.

Yesterday, during two precious hours to myself that I spent shopping for necessities like bubble bath, flashing toothbrushes, and potty training bribes treats, I thought this all over and wondered what I would say to a friend in my situation.

In the end I decided that I wouldn’t argue with them about the cosmic yardstick they were using to measure out enough. Not right now, anyway. Instead, I would remind them that things are nowhere near back to normal, not when Mike hasn’t even finished chemotherapy. I would talk about how it’s premature to pay too much attention to the word “should” just yet. I would talk about Olympic figure skating and tell them to give themselves the grace due the second half.

During the free skate, Olympic figure skaters get bonus points for every jump they land after the halfway point of their program. This scoring system was set up to acknowledge that the second half is exhausting.

What is true of ice skating is usually also true when it comes to the demanding free skates of life. We often start out well – adrenaline kicks in, and we rise to the challenge. But somewhere in the middle we get tired, and then what happens to all the precision jumps and spins and fancy footwork the program demands? Right when the end is almost in sight, they get harder to perform well. Our risk of falling rises.  

This upcoming week is the week of nadir, again. Hopefully, it’s the last week of nadir in this particular free skate program.

Mike’s job this week is to survive. He earns his bonus points for eating, drinking, and sleeping.

My job this week is to execute the vital elements in my program as well as I can, particularly that dreaded quadruple axel of dinner-time, teeth-time, story-time, and bed-time. My job is not to stretch too far and try to throw in unplanned and difficult flourishes like, say, writing my next book (at least, not because I feel like I should, and possibly not even because I want to).

My job is to remember that, right now, here in the middle of the second half, the essential is still enough.

Are you in the second half of something at the moment? Have you been thinking about your sacred scared or being enough lately? Leave a comment or a link below and tell us about it.