I have been finding things really hard going the last few days.

I had planned Friday to do some baking and tidy up a bit, take the rubbish and recycling out. I did none of those things. I was going out in the evening, Martin was picking me up, and we were to have dinner with his daughter and her boyfriend. I admit I had a degree of anxiety about being sociable with people I don’t know well but I was also looking forward to it. So how it took me all day just to get myself up and running and ready, I’m not entirely sure. I was nearly there when Martin arrived, I was just putting some make up on.

We had a really enjoyable evening, conversation flowed easily and the food was good. By the time I got home though, I was absolutely pooped. In fact beyond pooped. I stumbled into bed exhausted. I don’t think I woke until after 10am on Saturday but even then I couldn’t muster up the energy to drag my sorry ass out of bed. With the exception of a couple of trips to the toilet, I didn’t manage to get up until well into the afternoon. I still imagined maybe I could clean up, do the baking or get the rubbish taken out. But it rapidly became apparent that I was going to have to be satisfied with resting again.

I’d opted not to go to Martin’s this weekend because of the things I wanted to get done at home and because he was working long shifts. It made sense to save fuel given the current petrol prices. But by this morning I was starting to climb the walls. My son is currently on holiday so it’s been just me and Ian Penguin, and as much as I adore Ian, he’s not the chattiest. I knew I had to get myself going today. Depression was starting to take hold and I needed an escape from the four walls.

It still took me forever to get ready, but I did eventually manage it. I’d decided I’d try and get a gym session in while it was quiet, give myself a head start on this week’s attendance. I’d been quite tearful earlier, had put it down to missing my dad on Father’s Day, and being generally under the weather, but didn’t expect to full on cry at the gym. Thankfully I think I got away with it. The member of staff on duty didn’t seem to know me, although I think she may have clocked my tears, she mercifully didn’t mention them.

Despite the effort required and the public cry, I managed to plod on through my workout. I was rather relieved by the end to retreat to my car and head home.

Back indoors, I tidied up the kitchen, took the rubbish and recycling out, baked the sponges for two birthday cakes, made myself a healthy, fresh dinner from scratch and washed up. I was still intermittently crying but I’d found the strength I’d been lacking the last couple of days.

When I spoke with Martin this evening he stated that if I hadn’t got out of bed today he’d have driven over after work and dragged me out of bed. Genuinely I can’t promise what kind of reception he’d have got. I live with chronic illness and this week I had overdone it. If I need to stop and rest, that’s just how it goes. I’m my own worst critic, so I’m unlikely to allow myself to be lazy and pointless unless it’s absolutely necessary. Resting up as an essential act of self care never feels particularly easy. And I need to stop with the self judgment. It is as it is.

I’m hopeful that by tomorrow I’ll be all reset and back to (my) normal and I can start getting on with stuff again. That’s the plan anyway.