Picking Up The Pieces

As I settle myself in to mentally prepare myself to write, I feel cautiously content. I have a cat cuddled up beside me — a former stray that chose to adopt us a handful of years ago — the birds outside my bedroom window are singing their morning chorus, and the gentle pitter-patter of rain is making me feel hopeful that Spring may finally be here to stay. I normally listen to music while I write. I find that it helps to drown out the racing thoughts that typically veer me off track. I can become distracted by the most inconsequential things. Today, the sounds outside my bedroom window is enough to keep me grounded.

Getting myself to this state of serenity was a great Herculean feat that took a lot of willpower (plus half of a cannabis edible, if I’m being honest) to achieve. Everyday I do my best to navigate life while managing my mental illnesses, as well as a learning disability. Daily tasks that come naturally to most people require a great amount of warming up for me. I often struggle to find a healthy balance. I’m currently taking time off from work to lessen my mental load. It’s allowing me the time I need to focus on healing, so that I can be better for not only myself, but for those who love me.

This delicate quest for balance is a change of pace for me, as I usually feel compelled to spin my many plates of responsibility atop long wobbly poles instead. I became a master of this act, and deftly performed it for years, piling on more and more plates as time wore on. I carried on this façade so well that no one, not even those closest to me, was able to see the cracks in the plates that I had dropped during rehearsals. I glued them back together while no one was watching. My smile was my mask, and I wore it well. I inadvertently became the ringmaster of my own personal circus, and appointed myself the main attraction.

I should have realized sooner that it was all just smoke and mirrors. My false bravado and confidence in my deft defying balancing act enticed me to pile on more plates than I was able to manage, until they all came crashing to the floor. The shattering of my treasured plates in such a public fashion forced me to finally admit that I wasn’t coping well at all. I started seeing a therapist, and took some much needed time off from work. That was the first time that I allowed myself to slow down in years. I gathered up the shards of my treasured plates and painstakingly glued them back together.

Carrying them got easier after I started holding them closer to me instead. I learned that the act packs a bigger punch when you fling your plates at someone else. No, that’s not quite right. What I mean is that it isn’t healthy to take on all of the responsibility alone. We need to let our loved ones know when we‘re struggling. You have to learn when to drop the façade and finally allow someone to see what you’re hiding behind that mask. It’s the only way that they’ll be able to help you. A circus requires many players to run smoothly. I finally felt safe enough to retire my act, as it was no longer needed. I even organized a fiber workers meeting at a local coffee shop, which unfortunately only had two meetings before the pandemic reached our province.

Having that foreboding plate unexpectedly hurled at my head ignited a sudden urge to pull my tired act out of retirement for what — I hope — would be its final performance. I went right back to spinning my treasured plates, and tossed it up there with them. My act was grossly out of practice, and it didn’t take long before they came crashing down again. In the face of crisis, I automatically went back to what had carried me through my whole life. I wasn’t yet strong enough to cope.

Now I’m on my second leave of absence in just under two years. It’s been quite hard for me to accept, because I really am quite good at my job. Luckily I held onto that façade for as long as I did, as I somehow managed to establish a respectable reputation at my place of employment. That, paired with the open lines of communication I’ve held with my employer have allowed me the privilege to take time off-not once, but twice-so that I can heal is something that I’ll forever be grateful for. I know how important job security is, especially in these difficult times, so I am able to recognize how truly fortunate I am.

After I’m through gluing my plates together for the final time, they will find a cozy new home within a locked cabinet. It’s the safest way to store them. I’ve given copies of the key to those that I trust to handle my precious plates with care. I know that they will be there for me in case the urge to spin them once again becomes harder for me to resist. I’ve recently come to terms with the fact that I can’t be both ringmaster and main attraction of my circus of a life. I’m currently working on a whole new act, one that is more sustainable. It’s getting stronger everyday.

Originally published on Medium by "Know Thyself, Heal Thyself".