It’s Monday night, past 10 o’clock. I’m very tired from an exhausting weekend and the stress accumulation over weeks. I’ve done all “my homework”, i.e. all the things I know will help me to relax and eventually get a good night’s sleep: meditation before dinner; warm bath and enjoyable book after dinner; guided relaxation/meditation in bed. And yet, despite the tiredness and the relaxation exercises, I cannot fall asleep.
Here it is: anger (“Hello anger, my old friend…”).
My body is tense, restless — and it’s not the lingering post-race soreness that is bothering me. This is something else. Something deeper. Something I need to heed.
I toss and turn, trying to find a comfortable position that will allow me to fall asleep — in vain. I try breathing exercises again — in vain.
This anger wants to be heard, acknowledged, heeded. This anger wants promises. My body wants to be heard.
So I turn on my bedside lamp and sit up in bed. A hand on my heart, I talk to my anger, talk to my body. There’s a strong, distinct, loud “No” coming up from somewhere within.
“OK”, I say, “ I am angry. I am angry and I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to have my ablation & tube ligation next week! I’m not even having any fucking sex, so what the hell do I need to get my tubes tied for?!? I don’t want to spend the rest of this autumn convalescent! I don’t want to wait until the end of November to go climbing again! And I don’t want to force myself to squeeze a climbing session into this week, I cannot force my wrist to climb yet.”
As I voiced my anger, as I listened to and acknowledged my body’s “No’s”, I could feel the tension slowly release, the ease slowly return, the tiredness free to wash over me.
“Don’t worry, it’s OK, it’s ’No’, and tomorrow we’ll take take of it and tell them ’No’.”
And I finally fell asleep.
As much as I’d like to stop having my monthly bleeding, as much as I’d love to have the certainty of not running any risk at all of ever getting pregnant, there’s still a part of me that isn’t ready to have that double procedure done now, to put my body through that now — not after the injuries and surgery I’ve been putting up with since April, not with all the stress I still have.
As eager as I am to go climbing this week (with my climbing buddy J. or with the guy from the gym, if the latter ever replies to me), my wrist isn’t ready for that, yet, and I don’t want to forfeit its recovery, possibly adding several more weeks of no-climbing.
As much as I’d like to continue taking the memoir-writing course now, I’m not OK with doing it with an instructor who has explicitly said she will not ask people to give trigger warnings (topics like cancer, suicide, substance abuse are being addressed explicitly) and the rest of the participants are persons who don’t understand the use of trigger warnings (nor the use of pronouns).
All of these other people, institutions or situations have rules, needs, and boundaries of their own, some of which might be reasonable and/or acceptable (some definitely are not). But I have my own, too. As I’ve been trying to force myself to adapt to these other people, institutions or situations, to their rules, needs, or boundaries, I have been disrespecting my own needs and boundaries: and that’s the main, deepest source of the anger I felt last night.
Yes, I can rightly be angry with the medical/insurance system here in the U.S. that is making feel like I need to have my ablation ASAP to save money.
Yes, I can reasonably be angry with the instructor and other people from the memoir-writing course for not building a really safe/comfortable environment for all.
Yes, I can understandably be disappointed and frustrated with the inconsistent (& to me confusing) responses from the guy at the climbing gym.
But at the end of the day, it’s up to me to say “No”: “No, your rules or needs or boundaries don’t work for me, so I will draw the line here, where my needs and boundaries stand firm.”
Luckily, my body said “No” for me last night.
The Little Prince and the Fox 