Geezus fuck.
Are we almost done with the first quarter of 2022? We only have 4 quarters in a year, what the hell have I been doing with myself?
I didn’t start the year with New Year’s resolutions. Instead, I had goals.
Because goals are…different?
After the past few years of living with my separated husband during the pandemic, moving out, and getting divorced, I wanted this to be “The Year” that I get my shit together.
I cut myself slack at the end of last year. Surviving a divorce, juggling the emotional needs of my children, and undergoing an absurd amount of renovations in a short amount of time was the best I could do for survival. I had one clear target: make my new house a comfortable home for my kids.
In January, I was burnt out. Years of separation stress crashed on me, compiled with the pain of not seeing my kids every day. It still hurts like a mofo.
I figured I’d take a bit of time to decompress and then focus on my new life.
That new life included eating healthy, taking online classes, and pursuing activities that forced me outside (like bike riding). With my kitchen complete and not having to cater to my ex-husband’s palate, I could finally cook recipes accumulated for years on Pinterest.
I’m tracking at almost 0% success.
In my defense, I had other home improvement projects that took priority. But that’s not the only reason.
If I dig deep, I’m pushing down a new type of depression surfacing after years of marital misery.
This isn’t how I was supposed to feel. I wanted this divorce. I hustled to move out. I fantasized about this new life.
And yet…I’m not motivated to kickstart any of the goals and habits for my post-divorce world. Rather than cry because I miss my kids or feel anger towards my ex-husband, I curl up on the couch and nap. And by “nap”, I mean “sleep for four hours”. This messes up my sleep schedule, thus continuing this cycle of unhealthiness.
I need to bitch-slap myself out of this funk.
When married and around my kids full-time, my tight schedule dictated what and when I could accomplish things. Now I have large pockets of alone time; it feels unfamiliar like I’m in an empty white room with nothing around me. The chaos of running a house is replaced with silence and time.
Without deadlines and urgency, I lack the drive to do anything.
…
It’s March. And I’ll be damned if I ruined my kids’ lives so that I can lay numb on my couch.
Something needs to change.
I made my fitness area in my garage as good as it’s going to get for a while. To make sure I exercise, I tell my little fitness trio that I owe them money if I don’t work out on a given day.
Telling three people you owe them $200 each if you don’t exercise by 6 pm is a great motivator.
I need to carry that sense of urgency and consequence to my other goals. I can’t intrinsically motivate myself right now and it’s not working to try. If it takes accountability through others, so be it.
That means drinking the water that I vowed to drink or else I owe my friends money.
That means not stocking my pantry with snacks or else I owe my kids money.
That means going on those outdoor solo adventures or else I owe my coworkers money.
Since I’m down to being single-income earner for the first time in twenty years, saving money is a big motivator. I’m not in the “oh, I do it for my body to be strong and to feel good!” crowd. I’m in the “ugh fine, I’ll exercise, but only because I have to” group.
It looks on the surface that I’m motivated by the only consequence that matters to me right now:
money. But deep down, I’m motivated to crawl out of this unfamiliar form of depression so that I can finally, finally, pursue happiness with my new life.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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Photo credit: Allef Vinicius on Unsplash