I love to be busy.
My need for busy borderlines unhealthy. Truthfully, it’s probably excessive much of the time. And while I’m actively building more space into my days, you’d probably need a magnifying glass to see it.
The past 2 weeks have been especially intense. Frantic, at times. Definitely unsustainable.
And, at some point, my body protests: give me some rest.
Unsurprisingly, last week, I got sick. My body’s way of saying “your wise self isn’t slowing down, I’ll step in”.
Nothing major, just a nasty cold.
Since it didn’t knock me out, I kept working. I was ‘ok enough’ to work, so I didn’t feel justified in taking the time off. Afterall, there’s a lot of work to do (I told myself…), including meetings that had taken considerable organization to firm up, projects that needed to be moved forward, deadlines…
Plus, when I take time off, my stress builds because I can feel the work piling up.
And, guess who is still sick a week later?
Moi, of course.
My friend knocked some sense into me yesterday:
I DO want to get better.
So, today I’m taking a sick day.
I’m going to rest, slow down, breathe. I haven’t made my bed as a reminder to spend a lot of time in it.
