Edie Weinstein almost worked herself to death. Now she’s sharing tips to maintain a happier, healthier lifestyle.
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I woke up this morning six hours after closing my eyes; my brain already abuzz with tasks that needed to be completed—today. Social Media Magic meeting at 9:30, errands to run before seeing a 1:00 pm therapy client, and then writing a few articles, followed by going to a movie with my dear friend Yvonne, which is the play part of my day. We are going to see the Disney Pixar film, Inside Out. Perfectly timed for this over-scheduled overachiever who sometimes uses work to avoid emotions. It will take a ton of self discipline and fortitude to stay focused on the screen and present in the moment and avoid writing the movie review in my head, even before I leave the theater.
Even as I am typing these words, my thoughts and fingers are moving more rapidly than the computer can type. Scary! Believe it or not, my current pace feels more to me like the tortoise than the hare; a little more than a year ago, my cotton tail would have been miles ahead of where I am now, leaving the poor little turtle in the dust.
My body betrayed me. More specifically, my heart went into attack mode. It put an end to the pattern of personal slave driver behavior that had me running full steam ahead until I ran out of steam.
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A pivotal event occurred on June 12, 2014, that altered the course of my life. My body betrayed me. More specifically, my heart went into attack mode. It put an end to the pattern of personal slave driver behavior that had me running full steam ahead until I ran out of steam. And still, in my heart of hearts, the inner expectation was that I keep on keepin’ on. This was fueled in part by horrendous fears that I would not be able to support myself and my son as a single/widowed mother if I didn’t emulate my father and work what we called ‘crazy hours.’ I”m not sure why I remained obsessed with that thought, as I was long out of danger after a decade and a half, but it kept me imprisoned in workaholic prison with little hope of parole.
I had trained people in my life to know they could count on me 24/7 to be there for support. I am often asked if people can pick my brain for ideas and resources. I usually say yes, because I have the ability to help them. But beyond that, I suffered from the self-flagellating belief that I would let people down if I didn’t maintain the image of constant availability. And I convinced myself that my value as a person depended on superhuman performance.
What would happen, I wonder, if I turned down their requests? The truth is, it would make me unhappy. If I’m to be bare naked honest, I like being the go-to person. It has become part of my persona. Cutting back would feel like emotional surgery, a scalpel excising a core aspect of my identity to be cut and cauterized away.
Work is my drug of choice. The same kind of high I imagine addicts feel when scoring or swigging is what I have experienced checking items off my ever growing to-do list.
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I don’t drink, smoke, or use substances. Work is my drug of choice. The same kind of high I imagine addicts feel when scoring or swigging is what I have experienced checking items off my ever growing to-do list. The insidious thing is that, just like when you dig a hole at the beach, and it fills back up when the tide comes in, the tide in my life has never stayed low for long. There is always more to do.
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Workaholism is an encouraged addiction, a virtuous habit, respected in most cultures. It is rewarded financially and, as a bonus, earns praise from others. I have to admit, I would swoon a bit when friends marveled that I get more done in a day than some accomplish in a week. Their comments are often tinged with concern that I may be ramping up and risking a relapse, after I promised that post-heart attack, I would slow things down. To them, this pace resembles that at which I ran last year. What they don’t realize is that the same 12 hours I am working now consists of low pressure writing, instead of high intensity counseling in the mental health and addictions field coupled with coming home and penning articles. My new schedule feels like gliding across a polished dance floor in comparison.
Still, the danger remains. Last night, I put a pot of water on the stove to make iced tea, telling myself that I would remember to take it off when it had boiled. I had gotten caught up in writing and before I knew it, at least 20 minutes had gone by. “Holy shit!” was my immediate thought, “I could have started a fire if the water had dissipated and the pot had burned.” Fortunately, there was a bit of liquid that remained and the peppermint blueberry combo was refreshing.
Considering that some of you may have a similar affliction, in honor of Independence Day, I offer some suggestions to claim your independence from the overlord of overwork.
1. Recognize that you are a human being, not a human doing.
2. Know that your worth and your work are two different things.
3. Trust your inner guidance to tell you when you are running on a hamster wheel of activity and going nowhere.
4. If that doesn’t work, trust your friends to tell you.
5. Take daily pause/time outs. That could be as simple as a ten-minute meditation.
6. Spend moments in nature as you breathe in its healing properties.
7. Do what nourishes your soul. You’ll know it when you feel it.
8. Surround yourself with beauty.
9. Be curious about life. Muse a lot by asking “I wonder if I could do …” and “I wonder how this works,” rather than needing to figure everything out and have all the answers.
10. Be with people with whom you are the best version of yourself; yaysayers and not naysayers.
11. Remind yourself that everything you want to do need not get accomplished in one day.
12. Pace yourself.
13. Eat and drink healthy food and beverages that strengthen your immune system and avoid toxic substances that deplete it.
14. Learn the power of the word ‘no.’ Saying it doesn’t make you a mean or dismissive person.
15. Let other people share the work load.
16. Know that recovery is possible and that it takes a mindful approach, rather than a mind full of thoughts that overflow like so many dishes in a sink.
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I am finally, to paraphrase one of my favorite musicians, Bob Marley, ’emancipating myself from mental slavery,’ knowing that ‘none but myself can free my mind.’
Photo—Alle/Flickr