Life is funny, sometimes. I was looking for a way to use this photo in a post, but just couldn't figure out how. You see, my mom came to visit this week, and on her first night here she treated the Best Husband Ever and I to dinner at a local artisan pizza restaurant. As you probably guessed, that is where I took this picture.
I really like the photograph, actually, because both my veggie pizza and my mom look so forlorn. In reality, they were not. (At least, Mom was not -- perhaps the veggie pizza did feel a little sad as I devoured it.) Still, I didn't want to use it in a post announcing my mom's visit, since I thought maybe it would make said visit seem depressing and mournful. While her visit was emotional, it was not as despair-filled as this picture might insinuate.
But I did find something else to use it for -- a depression-related post! (Yes, I know that I have now associated my mom's visit with depression, defeating the purpose of avoiding using the photo in the first place. Bear with me.) Yesterday, I was so sad. No, not sad -- depressed. The sort of depression that borders on despair. I'm not sure of the cause -- spiritual attack? brain chemistry? too much coffee and not enough sleep? -- only that I seemed to ooze with heaviness, tears, and inertia. I couldn't bring myself to exercise, which is a rare thing. I watched some Gilmore Girls, ate some ice cream, and went to bed early
Today, I still felt tired when I woke, but I got up anyway. I took my time in the shower, lingering under the warm water, then dressed in an outfit that felt both comfortable and attractive. I felt the need to keep breakfast simple, so I ate toasted (and locally made) nine grain bread spread with butter and strawberry-rhubarb preserves. I drank some coffee, then drank some tea. I cleared my inbox and my reader. I ate more toast for lunch, along with some watermelon and more tea, reading a fun book about werewolves at the same time. I sat in the sun, enjoying the breeze that carried the possibility of thunderstorms our way (my favorite kind of weather). I watched our neighbor's grandchildren search for their cat and say hello to our dogs. I still didn't feel like exercising, so I took Jackson on a walk around the neighborhood. I ran into a former colleague, took a moment to stop and chat, then headed home. I did some push-ups. I fed the dogs. I blogged (or, more accurately, I am blogging).
All that to say -- I kept today simple. My brain wanted me to go to the gym, or shed major sweat in front of a workout DVD, but my heart (and my spirit?) vetoed the idea. Today I lived gently, and it felt wonderful and, even more importantly, needed. It was (and continues to be) therapeutic.
The eating disordered side of me wants to condemn today as wasted, as lazy, but the sane part of me disagrees. Yesterday, for whatever unknown reason or reasons, was hard. It was flat-out bad. Today, as a result, became a time of recovery. I allowed myself that time and now I think that tomorrow will turn out to be much better for it, and I bet I'll be back on track in terms of goals, writing, and workouts. We all need time off, and I forget that too often.
How do you rest and recover, whether physically, emotionally, or spiritually?