Innocent Until Proven Guilty
I’ll Admit, I’m Guilty.
The guilt. The sickly feeling that weaves its way through my stomach like this unpleasant strain of Covid. It’s keeping me in bed. The Covid, not the guilt.
The guilt though, it keeps me from pure, solid rest because my brain keeps reminding me about the workload I’m now behind on. You can’t truly rest with a mind set on task mode.
I get this guilt. When I’m forced to stop or pause on a weekday because of something like sickness. Today it’s Covid, plaguing me with head fog and aches and filling my entire body with its temperamental moods. ‘Should I be hot?’ ‘Should I be cold?’ ‘Should I be hot and cold?’ Yuck.
Just when I thought I’d finally secured the desirable 50-50 balance of work and motherhood, sickness rattled things up and tipped the scales again.
In my equation of life, it seems I forgot to include the part where I can’t do either very well. When my bed takes precedence, and something has to give. Work, in this case. Quality time I’d planned with my daughter, also.
Logically, I know I need to rest to let my immune system do its very talented thing. I know I have to save energy to repair so I can return to life as soon as possible. There’s only one of me to pay the bills. One of me to run my business and socials. One of me to meet those story deadlines.
But there’s also only one of me to make sure I prioritise that one of me.
Why are we like this? The working mums, or parents, constantly walking that fine line of balance that leaves us feeling guilty if we let one side of our responsibilities seemingly waver.
Who convinced us we should do it all and all the time? My sister once told me, ‘You can have it all. But not all at once’. I liked that. I believed that. Or did I?
When did the notion of having to master an impossible balance find its place on our timelines? When did we decide it was wrong to simply be?
How can we shake this guilt from its pedestal to say, ‘Just rest. It’s OK! Give yourself some damn compassion.’
The guilt. Something I plan to work on shifting once the fog lifts and I’m back taping at the keys on my laptop. Back moving between the array of reminder alarms screaming from my phone.
I think I’ll carve out a new equation. An unbalanced balance, where at least 10 per cent of the time involves retraining my mind to release expectations. To focus on ironing out the bump in my timeline where I learnt it was unproductive to rest.
To question why this form of self-care feels so time sensitive. So stagnant. So subconsciously self-critical.
A new equation where I accept and follow what I already know, which is to prioritise health. Where the words ‘I should be’ are replaced with the relaxed whisper of ‘I could be’.
To sit in quiet content with me and for me, guilt thrown at the bin like a used double-lined Covid test. My brain’s busy alarm set to snooze.
