When Even Writing Becomes Too Much

For about 24 hours, for the first time in a very long time, I was simply too exhausted to write my blog.

Not because I had nothing to say. Quite the opposite. I had plenty to say, but absolutely no energy to say it.

I was physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted. Even putting a few sentences together felt like too much effort.

And that worried me.

Writing has become such an important part of my life. It gives me purpose, helps me make sense of what is happening, and allows me to turn some of the worst experiences of PSP into something potentially useful for others.

But for the past day, even that was beyond me.

I suspect the last two weeks have finally caught up with me.

I’ve been battling severe constipation, one of the most debilitating symptoms I’ve experienced with PSP. It has meant hours of discomfort, pain, frustration, and enormous physical effort. Hopefully, with medication, patience, and a great deal of learning about a subject I never wanted to become an expert in, I’m finally getting on top of it.

But I’ve realised something.

Just because a crisis is ending doesn’t mean you’ve recovered from it.

The physical, mental, and emotional exhaustion can remain long after the immediate problem has begun to improve.

And then there’s anger.

I don’t write about anger nearly enough, perhaps because I generally consider myself a positive person. But being positive doesn’t mean I don’t get angry.

Of course I do.

I get angry at the limitations PSP imposes. Angry at how much energy ordinary activities now require. Angry when something else goes wrong just as I think I’ve got the previous problem under control.

And sometimes I get angry simply because I’m exhausted.

This afternoon, I could feel that anger building. It wasn’t really directed at anyone. It was frustration with the situation, with my body, and with the sheer relentlessness of it all.

So I tried something remarkably simple.

Yoga. And deep breathing.

I slowed everything down. I concentrated on each breath, relaxed my muscles, and gave myself permission, just for a while, to stop fighting.

Gradually, the anger began to subside.

Nothing miraculous happened. My PSP didn’t improve. My energy didn’t suddenly return. The problems hadn’t disappeared.

But my reaction to them changed.

And that made an enormous difference.

I’ve written before about the importance of slowing down, staying calm, breathing properly, and not panicking when PSP throws another crisis at me. I know the theory. I’ve repeated it often enough.

Yet when the next crisis arrives, I still find myself fighting it, becoming frustrated, and exhausting myself even further.

Perhaps I’m finally beginning to learn.

There is a difference between fighting PSP and fighting myself. The first is unavoidable. The second sometimes makes everything worse.

There is also a difference between giving up and giving yourself permission to stop.

For the past day, I needed to stop.

I couldn’t write. I couldn’t summon the energy to do something I genuinely love.

Now I’m writing again.

I’m still tired. I’m still dealing with PSP. And I certainly haven’t discovered some magical formula for eliminating anger, frustration, or exhaustion.

But perhaps I’m getting better at recognising what I need at a particular moment. Sometimes that means pushing myself. Sometimes it means trying yoga or deep breathing. Sometimes it means switching things around until I find something that helps.

And sometimes the most productive thing I can do is absolutely nothing.

Rest. Breathe. Relax. Give my body and mind a little time to recover.

PSP doesn’t always give me a choice about when to stop. But perhaps I can get better at recognising when I should.

And if I occasionally miss a day of blogging because I’m too exhausted to write, perhaps that isn’t a failure.

Perhaps it’s progress.