Sometimes You've Gotta Take 5
I stretch my limits twice a week with heavy weights, high intensity, and online personal training with David. I scream-lift for 40 minute, and I love it! I’m getting stronger! Lifa (the best big brother ever) plays with Benjamin so I can get in the zone. The second I say goodbye to David and close my computer, Lifa and Benjamin come out with big, expectant grins. With practiced shock, Lifa says, “Oh, are you finished?” Everyone is ready for Mom to be back in charge, incapacitated or not. It’s charming. Endearing. And I feel like I could break.
Post-workout is also the fussy time of the day when Benjamin clings to me with no regard for my collapsing core. It’s time to prepare dinner, and Chris is coming home to what we all hope is not straight chaos. I feel myself cracking under the weight and pressure. Twice a week. Every week.
My family has made a way for me to lift twice a week because it’s valuable to me. Yet I’m not allowing it to be valuable. I’m not recovering. I’m not even functioning. One night, I couldn’t sleep because my muscles were spasming from no recovery time.
It’s enough of a pattern to write about. So this week (after months and months), I decided to do something differently. I have learned so much lately about how different I am when I’m not at my wit’s end. (See my post about my brain break!)
When my last workout was finished, the boys came out right on cue. Before he could even turn Benjamin loose, I told Lifa, “I’m setting a timer for 5 minutes. I’m going to my room. I will come out and be a better mom then.” He loves specific time frames. Lifa didn’t miss a beat, “Ok Benjamin! Let’s clean up Mom’s weights!” (He always cleans up my weights for me afterward because I can no longer pick them up. At 12 years old, he is legitimately one of the best humans on this planet.)
I grabbed a shaker bottle from the kitchen and threw everything I could reach inside: whey protein, vitamins, and my blood sugar supplement. I asked Siri to set a timer so I would not waste a second checking a clock or feeling guilty. I spent 24 of those precious seconds guzzling my super-shake. Then I laid on the floor by Chris’ bedside fan, sweaty hair everywhere, hands above my head, sneakered feet on the night stand. Just breathing. I enjoyed every breath of those five minutes. Everybody was ok. And I was better for it.
Sometimes you’ve gotta take 5…
Because this is going to be waiting for you whether you’ve taken 5 minutes to be your best self or not!
When I came out again, I could smile and even form complete sentences. I was happy to see the humans and looked forward to making dinner and cleaning up the house for Chris to come home. I’m finally starting to realize I to take responsibility to not get exasperated, exhausted and weary. It’s not my children, family or any other life circumstance that drives me to brokenness or bitterness. It’s the little choices I make throughout the day.
I’ve started taking 5 - 15 minutes breaks when I put Benjamin down for a nap or bedtime, even when I don’t have time. If I pause for a minute before getting to work, I work better. I work joyfully. Five minutes, or however many minutes it takes, is a much lower price to pay than the price the whole family pays if I’m exasperated, bitter or hard to be around.
Set a timer if you need to. But take five. And watch how far it goes.