[For anyone who knows and cares, I am working on the Ideas of March. It has been harder than I expected. I write about one idea and become discouraged, trash it and start over with a different one. This is not producing a lot of posts, unfortunately. But here is one, even though I am disatisfied with it.]
It is flabbergasting how many ways I have for ratcheting up the pressure on myself.
Not content with just doing a good job by planning and taking action, I unconsciously – and cleverly – place sundry obstacles in my way.
Like a person deep sea diving, I understand that should I relieve the pressure, I will suffer my own personal version of the bends.
While this condition is not physically painful, it is debilitating.
Decisions cannot be made.
Tasks cannot be completed.
I fear losing the tenuous grasp I have on the ever-frazzling rope of sanity and reality. The grasp that keeps those recurring thoughts at bay and reminds me to face forward towards the world and not yield to the temptation of exploring the vastness in the dark recesses of the mind.
I wonder how useful this coping mechanism is. Regardless, it is powerful –most of the time I can only recognize its use in hindsight. Which, while enlightening later, is not necessarily helpful in the moment.
A fraud throughout, I act as though this does not happen or, if it does, I do not notice it.
I wonder, as I climb into my decompression chamber and let go, whether or not there will come a day when I can operate outside this haven without the normalizing and barely tolerable level of pressure required to keep me on task and productive.
As I analyze how I operate and manage to maintain an acceptable level of functionality, I know I am not alone. I am sure there are many women who can only rise to the task when the odds are stacked against them and others write them off as incapable.
It is just that some days – most, actually – I wish I was not one of them.