Lucky There's Me

Little bursts of motivation happen continuously. I tend to fall into trouble when all the good-feeling starts to wane and my effort becomes routine. Can I be happy with routine? The sort of discipline that contributes to success?

Maybe I can. Maybe.

Now that I'm not over-employed I have time to lay in bed when I'd rather stay warm and comfortable. I can choose to ignore the internal alarm that has developed from my always-busy lifestyle. My kid is old enough to get herself ready to school and off in its direction. I don't have to do a thing.

But, I want to. I get emotionally high from taking care of my daughter. When I'm awake with her in the morning and looking after her just a little it makes me happy. Having to leave before she's off to school every day, leaving her to do whatever it takes to get there without my company, has sucked so much.

So, even though I can sleep in and ignore the urge to get myself out of bed, I realized (this morning) I wouldn't. There are so few years left for me to share these early hours with my kid. College is a future we can touch.

Having routine momentum is a tough one for me, or was, until I realized I can totally love my routine every weekday morning. And somebody else can, too.

We both get so pleased when I am ahead of her just a couple of small steps, just being around to listen to whatever mumbled ramblings she has on her mind before her school day starts. I make her breakfast....she takes time to eat it...we have a few minutes of exchange before she's off.

Normally, she grabs something easy (like a banana or whatever) and eats it or forgoes food til the end of the school day. Being home and awake for her day start is this is one thing I can take part in, be of help with, and enjoy 'til she is truly on her own. 

I know she's capable of getting here to there on her own.  She does a lot for herself. She has for years. I get to be a mom with my new hours, though, and we both like that.

For the past few months I've reduced my hours at work again and again until, finally, I decided to just be home...and in that time, she and I have grown together more closely. I have to credit breakfasts and the minutes of listening when she gets home from school. I am here for the debriefings and can provide a place to let out stress.

And you know what? It makes her happy. And that motivates me to be here even more. I mean here, in her life, on earth for as long as I can keep my life going, not just here at home. Her jokes, her health, her trust and confidence, the way she shares her life with me, expects me to just "be there" for her, is just the motivation I need for when my own momentum slows.

I tell everyone I am lucky to have her. I am.

Being home has shown me that she is just as lucky there's me.

I want to keep her lucky for as long as I can.

My internal motivation, my fitness, my health, is within me - there is no question of that. And right now I happen to like that I have new-found wisdom to carry me when my internal motivation starts to wobble. "Lucky there's me." Recognizing how important I am to my daughter, even in the littlest ways. Really cool reinforcement. I think I can love routine.

To "Me"...or not to "Me"

If you follow my sporadic blog postings then you know my mom is very ill. I have wrestled with my feelings about her decline in health. A few months ago, I came to the uninspiring conclusion that I have to lower my expectations of my mom. Her ability to change her situation still has a small window; however, she controls her life, not me. And while I'm busy fretting over her life, I am forgetting mine...and how quickly and easily I could be in assisted living if I don't change my own situation.

It's a lot easier to support someone I love than it is to support myself. Why? Because I don't have to do the work. I can be all the great things I like about myself: smart, caring, thoughtful, full of ideas, fun, helpful, a good listener, ready with a shoulder rub or a back rub or a pep talk on those not-so-great days...and I still don't have to do any of the actual work.  All the reward, none of the honest-to-God effort.

Do I want to gyp myself? To do so will mean a hospital bed and three people helping me get out of it just to use the commode. Or worse: staying in bed to soil it because I don't have the energy to push the call button let alone get up.

This is a reality, a probability. The proof is my own mom. I am not so far from being where she is, really. The difference between where she is and where I am is only a matter of years.

I've wanted her to change that for herself so much I was willing to do it FOR her. So what's my deal? Can I micromanage serious life change for my mom...but not for me?

The more I listen to my mom talk about her new world of assisted living, the more urgently I want to care about myself. That's why I am in counseling. That's why I pay attention to my habits. That's why I keep equipping myself with ways to change what I'm doing and how I'm being and feeling and align myself with people who make health their own priority and others whose example or presence makes me want to be even more accountable. 

I am micromanaging serious life change for myself now. I can't do my mom's work, and that breaks my heart, but I can do mine....and that could very well save it.