I’ve just walked the door after 10 hours away at work. I’m sitting with the laptop, in the recliner chair in front of the fire (mostly because I didn’t wear a coat today and it’s still only March). My husband will be home in around 20 minute and I can’t wait to see his smiling face and have a nice big hug. All in all, I am very content. Sure, there’s things that went wrong today. But instead of being a disaster as I would have seen it three months ago, I am able to shrug it off as just one of those days.
It is when I pause to reflect that I see just how far I’ve come. My care co-ordinator always reminds me to acknowledge my achievements and be proud of myself. So although this post may seem indulgent, or self-congratulatory, I actually don’t care. Today I am in a place where I can sound my own trumpet from the rooftops and I’ll be damned if I don’t do it.
In my eight years of working life I have worn many hats. I have been a minimum wage administrator, and I have been a customer services manager. I’ve spoken to many people, answered millions of emails and worked under lots of bosses. Currently I am working with a tech giant of a company, and although I am a contract worker, I feel good about the job. Compared to some of my permanent positions, I’d still rather be on contract and happy. Maybe that says something about what I have learned to value over the years, especially since I became unwell.
Then-me would have had kittens over a day like today. I thrived in the high-pressure crock pot of the customer services world, and even one slow day would see me climbing the walls with the anxiety of not being active. I needed to go go go to feel like I was earning my keep. Now-me sees things differently. I am a lot more relaxed and value quality over quantity. I work to the beat of my own drum, and I am lucky to have a manager who is only interested in the end-results. Then-me would have needed lots of direction and praise and feedback and management in order to move in the right direction at work, especially in my manic phases where I would start 20 projects all at once, and see none through to fruition. Now-me has a nice, manageable number of spinning plates and hasn’t dropped any (yet! I’m only human, so if I do happen to lose one or two I will learn from it, forgive myself and move on).
It’s not just at work that I’ve changed for the better. I wrote a guest article for Stigma Fighters today and wrote in it that I miss the manic energy. Which is true, except… do I? I miss feeling like I can conquer everything that’s thrown at me, but I’m in no way incapable of doing that whilst I’m stable. In fact, I would wager that although I used to feel that way it would actually be the opposite. I can probably handle more of life now and enjoy it along the way.
Other positive changes include a new interest in actually looking after myself. I mean sleeping enough, eating enough and not abusing alcohol. So really, I am saying that I seem to have remembered the benefits of moderation. Not too little sustenance and not too much booze. Even if I’m in a social situation now I don’t find myself hitting the inhibition lubricant hard. I can go out and enjoy a drink or two without overdoing it.
And this thing called a social life seems to have re-appeared from wherever it was hiding. Up to December 2014 I became something of a social caterpillar (definitely not a butterfly anyway). Since everything has calmed down I feel better equipped to cope with being in a pub, seeing friends and having a nice chat. Funnily enough, it’s a lot easier to hold a conversation with someone when you’re not being distracted by your alter or the voices.
My relationship is on a lovely even keel. The husband has stood by me through some rough times, and has been my carer in so many ways – making sure I take the meds, keeping on top of the housework, listening to many, many incoherent rants and taking the brunt of my rage. I finally feel I am able to repay some small part of what he’s been doing for me for the last few years (he would argue that I don’t owe him anything though). The nice thing is that doing little things to make him feel good also makes me feel good about myself.
I am better connected with my family now that I am trusting them to love me unconditionally – which they always have done, it’s the ‘trusting’ part that’s key here. We have argued, fought and screamed at each other over the years but we’re at a mutual meeting place now as adults and friends. Now I’m no longer ashamed of myself and my struggles to be well, I can see they were never ever ashamed to call me their relation.
So this has been a rather introspective bit of writing – I am sharing it because I want to let the world see how far I’ve come. The changes are down to finally being on the right medication, and having surrounded myself with the right kind of support. Also, it’s partly because I’ve accepted that I don’t have to fight to accept this reality anymore. I am proud to say I am me and this is my life.