The last few weeks at work have been unsustainably stressful. This, compounded with an increased demand of time and attention on my medical case, has caused me to feel like my toe is on the edge of a metaphorical cliff. I’ve felt anger, which I’ve learned is something you experience when your boundaries have been crossed. And this anger has made it difficult to sleep, difficult to focus, difficult to be present with the most important thing at hand—my health.
Throughout my Ursula tumor journey, I’ve thought a lot about resiliency and being able to remain present and focused despite adversity. Resiliency is that sensation when you hit the bouncy ball on the pavement and it pops right back into your hand. When you bend the metal ruler and it returns to form when released. You know it when you have it, and you also know when it’s run out.
Resiliency requires capacity
As I started chemotherapy in 2018, I told my therapist that I felt less resilient. My capacity to deal with life’s other stressors was less than before. She responded, “It’s not that you are less resilient, it’s that you have less capacity.”
I started visualizing a mason jar with things delicately layered in, like a delicious breakfast parfait. Chemotherapy and its side effects, recovering from a massive surgery, the tumors pushing on my back in new ways, trying to launch a new cryptocurrency project, and traveling to South Africa for the holidays were some of the things I was holding at the time. They were all layers in my overflowing jar. One sideways meeting or incorrect medical bill was enough for the whole thing to tip over, pouring its contents on the counter in one sticky fell swoop.
As the COVID-19 lockdown unfolded last year, I revisited this metaphor often. Everywhere I glanced, there was a graveyard of broken jars. Threat of infection, lack of childcare, and removal of community were just a few of the stressors. No one had capacity for one more thing—we were (and still are) just holding on.
What do you do when you’ve reached that state? When it’s clear that things aren’t working but possibly less clear on how to move forward.
Strategies for creating more capacity
There are many tips I’ve learned over time to reduce the layers I hold, creating space to breath and be present.
Put it down. Trevor Hall has a lovely song, Put Down What You Are Carrying, which I’m even listening to as I’m writing this. One option to increase your capacity is to simply let some things go. Consciously decide to choose not to put your focus or life force on something weighing you down. Mark and I have been looking to buy a home over the last year but we’ve paused that search to focus on the more pressing things at hand. It is no longer in my jar.
Renegotiate your commitments. I do this with post-its, putting everything in front of me, shuffling them, and removing ones that are not in service of my legacy. I’ve been moving meetings a month out, not because I don’t have the time but because I don’t have the headspace.
Ask others to take on something for you. This week, I asked my dear friend Jordan Blanco to help project manage my medical case for Research to the People, which she accepted in all of 5 minutes. Her support lifts a lot of logistics and chaos from my awareness regarding my future treatment plans.
Set (and reinforce!) boundaries. My jar has a “do not fill above this line” mark—strict rules for how I use my time. Recently my boundaries have not been respected (including by myself) and I am working to remind and reset my boundaries to make this crazy life sustainable.
So today, I’m back to writing. I’m back to processing what’s going on to share, learn, grow, and hopefully help others heal too. I’m lightening my load and choosing to only place my energy on the few things that truly matter: my health, my life’s work, and those I love. Que sera sera to the rest.
I invite you to join me in doing so 🙏🏼. What are you holding onto that you may release into the universe?