There’s something happening in my life that I don’t really feel like I can adequately explain. All I know is I feel a sense of wonder, awe, and hopefulness — even in my darkest moments — about life and what’s ahead.

I dream of grace. I long for community. I long for connection, compassion, and seeing the potential and possibility in everyone I meet and regarding them without judgement. I work toward forgiveness every day, and I try to view everyone I meet with love. I never used to be like this before, but now it seems…fundamental.

Is it religion? Is it burgeoning spirituality? Or is it that I’m just waking up from a deep sleep?

I think loneliness and isolation have taken too great a toll on me, so much so that I’ve forgotten how to be around other people. I call it introversion, but really, what if it’s just an unwillingness to recognize, accept, and love people for who they are, whatever they are, in the moment I encounter them?

What would happen if I stepped away from rational thought, if I threw my arms up and said “I REALLY DON’T HAVE THE ANSWERS FOR ANY OF THIS!” and just threw my arms around the world?

Here I sit, on the precipice of another depressive episode, worried whether this is the one that will send me careening over the edge once and for all. And yet, there’s a tiny glimmer of something so faint, barely pulsating, barely breathing, but so very real and so very present that says “It’s all going to be okay.” What is this thing that doesn’t have a name?

And if it’s what I really think it is, why am I using so much energy on fighting it? Why am I afraid to admit it? I’m afraid that if I talk about this publicly that I’ll lose friends, that I’ll lose favour. I’ve lost so much over the last few years that I don’t think I can stand to lose anything — anyone else. But if by talking about it, what if I gain so much more? More awareness, more love, more peace, more self? Is it worth the risk?

I guess I’ll find out after I push publish.

Bonus:

This one was a real humdinger.

I dreamed I was with my mom at our old apartment, but the apartments had been rebuilt and reopened. A group of very serious women in business suits showed up at the door, and my mom answered. The women were there to see me, to tell me that I’d been selected to complete an interview for a job in Bahrain (!). It was a low-level clerical job, but the job paid twice what I’m making now.

The interview process was quite stringent. They would not only look into my credit history (always a fear of mine), but they’d look into my personal history as well, trying to find any instance of dishonesty, or a time where I displayed questionable moral choices. I signed the waiver giving them permission to look into my personal history, and they left.

The dream cut to a large meeting room, where the women were coaching me for the interview. I was to have read several well-known business books to prepare, but I hadn’t, so the women had presentations, poster boards, and cheat sheets. They were even acting out parts of each book to help me retain the information. Then the wall of the conference room opened to reveal an darkened auditorium.

The theatre was packed. We sat in the back of the house and were treated to a madcap musical revue that was part Annie, Get Your Gun, part Damn Yankees, and part You’re A Good Man, Charlie Brown. I was enjoying the singing and dancing, but didn’t understand what this had to do with the job interview. That’s when the ladies dropped their bomb.

I had to perform on stage as part of the interview. They’d hand me sheets with some lyrics on them, a few props, and a costume, but I had to portray the lead character in the musical in front of a packed house. I sang, I danced, I flubbed lines. The score was missing several pages of lyrics, so I had to rely on memory to finish the closing number. I twirled batons, told jokes, and danced until I literally dropped. No really, I collapsed and fell off the stage at the end.

But the audience loved it. The coach ladies were proud of me, and the executives of the company in the front row (!) had honest but helpful criticism on my performance. They offered me the job.

And then I woke up.

When you are some degree of unwell every day like I am, it becomes really difficult to determine when you should really take a day off, and when you should suck it up and go into work anyway.

I’m in the middle of a rather large, strategically important project at the library. The project is going fairly well, and I’m proud of the progress my team has made, how my direct reports are starting to become more confident in their own abilities and decision-making, and I’m proud of myself for keeping a relatively level head and not flying off the handle (publicly) during frustrating moments.

But this project isn’t only important to the library, it’s important to me, personally and professionally. My performance shows that I can rise to the challenge. Managing the project has given me the confidence boost I needed, and the strategic and theoretical underpinnings of the project helped solidify a number of deep-seated beliefs I have about service through technology. I’m under a white-hot spotlight at work as a result; I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that the success of this project could affect my trajectory at the library. Yes, it’s that big.

Because this project is so significant, I’ve found it hard to step away when my body demands it. I downplay my RA symptoms because I don’t want pity, but the days that I phone in sick are days when I literally can’t walk more than the distance between my bed and the bathroom, or days when I can’t shower or dress myself because the pain in my arms and hands is too great. Even then I make the effort to check email, communicate with the project team, my manager, and the vendor via email, phone or chat. My manager once told one of the library directors “That’s the thing about Cecily; if she says it’ll get done, it’ll get done no matter what.” I felt proud in that moment, but maybe I shouldn’t have. Maybe it was a caution? A moderated expression of concern from a colleague?

I’m writing this because I’m having a very rough day today. My calendar is blissfully empty except for one quick status meeting first thing in the morning, and I know this would be the perfect day to step back, rest, slow down the adrenaline that’s surging through my body, and just rest. My attendance record is pitted and pockmarked with numerous absences. I’m in danger of running out of sick leave. But my fear is that these absences, these days when my body forces me to press pause will impact my career aspirations. I’m scared that I’ll get a reputation for not showing up, not being able to do the work, not being available.

Being constantly fatigued and in pain demands a lot of energy. Some days I can draw on my reserves and make it through the days, but today isn’t one of those days. Yet here I am wasting precious cycles by worrying that my position is slipping, that I’m letting my team, my supervisor, and the entire library down if I don’t at least show up every day.

My workplace has shown me tremendous support and kindness throughout this illness. I only wish I could do the same for myself.

Related: see Colleen Harris-Keith’s excellent post on chronic illness in the workplace.

intimidate
ɪnˈtɪmɪdeɪt/
verb
gerund or present participle: intimidating
1.
frighten or overawe (someone), especially in order to make them do what one wants.

Since moving to Vancouver, I’ve had more than a few people tell me that they were intimidated by me when we first met. This is laughable to me because most people read my aloof bearing as snobbery or superiority when in fact it is masking a severe lack of confidence and a fear of rejection.

Hearing it again the other night made me want to try to unpack this reaction. What is it about me that makes people feel cowed? Is it my size? If I were smaller, would people feel less threatened by me? If I were more outgoing and less reserved, would that put people at ease?

If I spoke more haltingly or appeared to be more uncertain when sharing a professional opinion, would people relax? If I did that, it would fly in the face of the kind of professional advice women are usually given, e.g. be more assertive, don’t hedge, use I statements, etc.

Some days, nothing would make me happier than to be anonymous, to blend in, to be thought of as engaging, approachable and friendly. But even when I consciously try to adjust my body language and tone of voice, I still don’t get it right.

I had great plans for this day.

I didn’t sleep well last night, so I thought I’d get up at dawn, go for an early morning ride and wait for the sun to come up. Then I’d come back home, tackle my chores, and maybe have a well-earned nap at mid-afternoon.

Instead, all I managed to do was lounge around for far too long, hobble over to the drug store and the supermarket for a few necessities, and sit outside on the plaza for a few minutes, breathing fresh air instead of Ella’s and my recirculating breaths. I should feel guilty about this, my lack of motivation, but guilt is wasted on me. Guilt isn’t a powerful enough motivator for me to change my behaviour. Plus, sometimes the bed is too warm and cozy, your pajamas are too comfy, and you’re too deeply engrossed in whatever book you’re reading to move a muscle. I get it. I do.

There’s no real point to this point except to say this was one of the laziest Sundays in recent memory, I stayed in my pajamas until 2:00, and I am little more than a languid, Cecily-shaped lump today. And I am perfectly OK with this turn of events.