So, babysteps. If you read my post from a couple weeks ago, you might know I’ve been dealing with some issues relating to anxiety and depression and just plain being overwhelmed. That post was pretty upbeat and positive (no, don’t go away, this post is too, I promise!), but unfortunately, the medication I was seeing such great results on also caused WW3 in my guts. Wait, stop running! I promise I’m not going into detail on that, either!
Anyway, where that leaves me is back at square one: no meds to help me but I do have a definite advantage. I know I’ve actually got an issue with anxiety and depression now (for those that missed this stunning revelation I had: Suzy Sunshine types can get anxious and depressed, too!) and that automatically puts me way ahead of where I was before. Since I’m opting out of more meds until my tummy heals up, I’m going to employ some of those coping mechanisms I talked about before. And that’s where babysteps come in.
In the process of my slippery slide down into the dumps, my house started to look like one. I’m talking dust bunnies bigger than real bunnies. Items casually dropped on the dining room table piled up until we couldn’t remember where the table was, much less eat at it.
Don’t believe me? Brace yourself.I have photographic evidence:
So why am I airing my dirty laundry, er, kitchen here on my writing blog? Because those pictures up there are just two of the reasons I’ve told myself I can’t write lately. They’re obstacles to productivity. If I can’t get it together enough to clean my kitchen, how can I expect to write the last 22,000 words on Charming Cora, much less the 50K+ still to go on Peace, Love and Murder?
Last night, I took a babystep. I employed the 15-minute rule where you tell yourself just to work on that insurmountable task for 15 minutes and then stop. I worked on the kitchen for just a little over fifteen minutes and got this:
I know it’s not much, but just that 15 minutes of chipping away at something as guilt-inducing and gnarly as my kitchen felt freed me up enough to think about where I want to go with my conflict on the long-stalled Charming Cora. Not saying that a less-grungy kitchen is a cure for depression, or that I’m the first person to ever use the 15 minute rule in relation to housework (I do love Flylady), but this babystep felt good.