As promised in my, “Dropping out of the Rat Race” post, this post is a copy of my journal entry after reading several articles on psychcentral – specifically one titled, “How to Really Rest.”

The article offered several questions that I used for the basis of my entry. You can see how I used the questions and where they took me.

The Journal Entry

If I weren’t so busy would I feel like a failure?

Would I fear losing the approval of others?

What thoughts does my brain offer me when I decide to or think of resting?

Don’t do it!

Danger!

Rest isn’t safe.

You’re forgetting something.

There is no time to rest. Urgency…to do, do, do.

Would I fear becoming hopelessly stuck?

If I stop, I’ll never want to start again.

It’s all or nothing.

Pressure.

Pressure to do.

There is more here. It sits below the surface of my consciousness.

Why am I afraid to rest? Why does rest seem scary?

Why does it feel like a dragon lurking under the water? Can dragons breathe under water?

Lazy. Fat. Fat? Slothful. Disgust. My stomach turns. Self-disgust? Interesting.

Why am I afraid of rest?

I’m afraid of the thoughts my brain will offer me.

I haven’t earned the rest. I haven’t done enough. There is more work to do. I can’t expect to make any money, to support myself, if I rest. I can’t expect other people to take care of me if I’m not doing my part.

What is my part?

It’s larger than anyone else’s.

50/50.

No.

60/40.

Still no.

70/30.

That’s better. If its 70/30 I know they won’t get rid of me. I’ll have proven my value for sure.

70/30…that’s insane.

A person can’t sustain a 70/30 lifestyle. Obviously.

50/50, 60/40.

I feel a tightness in my chest. A pressure that communicates danger.

20/70.

Fuck. Panic.

My heart starts pounding. I think its safe to say that I’ve unpacked something here. Tears flood my eyes. The first has now fallen.

20/70.

Fear. Danger.

Edith (my dog) pops up. She senses my distress. She knows the tears are now falling freely.

So what do I do with this?

I’m tired. My emotions are heavy. My brain power waning.

I definitely need to get therapy scheduled again.

Oftentimes now I feel like I can trace back the stressor or the trigger to the source, but where does that actually get me? Identifying the source is only part of the process.

Why do I feel obligated to serve? Why does over-giving seem critical to my safety?

I do not believe in my own inherent self-worth?

Therefore I have to manipulate it?

To buy it, or I guess it would be to “sell” myself to others?

For approval? For love? For time? For attention?

“Look what I can do!” “Pick me.”

Hmmm….this is all quite interesting.

Love.

Love is what I extend to myself right now…and a pause.

This is heavy, and I need to put it down for a little while.

I’ll pick it up later – hopefully when I’m in front of a licensed professional 😉