It’s a morning of self-care, now that I think about it. After I dropped Connor off at school, I drove to the salon to get my hair cut. After that, I had a little time to kill before having to be at my next appointment, so I opted to hang out here at Starbucks for a half hour instead of going home.
I haven’t had the occasion to sit at the laptop bar at a Starbucks, even though my local Bux has had one for years. It’s kinda super convenient that I can sit here and blog using my iPhone and my Bluetooth keyboard — positioned at a perfectly ergonomic height, by the way — while my Apple Watch is plugged in to charge via the USB port by my right elbow.
In a few minutes, I’ll head down the road to my next appointment: a New Patient Visit with a psychiatrist who can prescribe my ADHD meds. My GP has been the prescriber for all the brain meds I’ve tried over the years, but he confirmed at our last med check that he’ll be retiring within a year or two. I figured I’d rather transfer ownership of my prescriptions to a mental health professional so I’m not left scrambling at the last minute. Plus, while I do love my doctor, and he seems to be up to date on the latest pharmaceuticals, I suspect it would be in my best interest to have my brain meds prescribed by a brain expert.
Hopefully I haven’t spent too long tickety-tapping here — time to wrap things up and head five minutes down the road to meet my new psychiatrist.
I found this post sitting in my Drafts folder from over a year ago. Although it’s not quite finished, it’s still relevant, so I’m posting it the way I found it.
When my therapist asked me last week how I was doing, my answer was, “Meh.”
Then she proceeded to solidify a concept I’d been toying with for some time: the idea of maintenance vs. a mood boost.
She asked me when was the last time I did something that made me happy… and I didn’t have an answer right away. I had answers to most of her other self-care questions: my last workout was last Thursday, for example.
When I gave it some thought, though, the thing that had most recently made me happy was walking in the local Fall Festival parade with my karate dojo.
But only two days after that boost, I learned that a co-worker of mine had died unexpectedly in his sleep. He was three weeks younger than me, so it hit especially hard — people younger than me aren’t supposed to die of natural causes, much less pass in their sleep. It got me thinking about relationships, and mortality, and all the things I take for granted (including waking up in the morning).
My therapist reminded me that the profound losses and hardships of others doesn’t invalidate the day-to-day experiences in my own life, and made sure that I wasn’t minimizing my own emotions and reactions. That’s hard, though — with this reminder of our mortality, knowing that Greg’s world now has to go on without him, how can I continue to feel put out that I don’t have time for planting bulbs because the rain won’t quit and I have to make my son’s halloween costume? #firstworldproblems
On the day before my black belt test, I had my regularly-scheduled appointment with my therapist, who just so happens to be a 4th-degree black belt in Tae Kwon Do. She suggested that I write down how it felt to have passed my black belt test, especially since the memory of feelings can fade or change with time.
At the end of the nearly six hours of intense testing (punctuated by a handful of short breaks for water and/or snacks), Mr. Turner faced the line-up of black belt candidates and asked us how we felt. For me, “relieved” was the first word that came to mind.
I made it through six hours of testing without injuring myself. At age 46, with my back problems and knee problems, making it through the test uninjured was a huge relief. That had honestly been my main goal: push as hard as I could for as long as I could without getting hurt. During the test, I could feel my lower back and my left knee weakening as I pushed myself to the limit. At one point during the grappling portion of the test, I even approached Mr. Turner and told him (in a voice that, to my embarrassment, started to quaver with emotion) that if he saw me stop during the exercise, it wouldn’t be because I didn’t want to continue — it would only be because I can’t. I told him that I planned to train to failure if necessary, but that I was getting frustrated. Of course, he reminded me that getting emotional wouldn’t help, and basically just to keep going.
After the test was over, though, the constant low-level stress of uncertainty and self-doubt of the past several months had finally lifted. I had finally made it through the gauntlet of black belt testing. I am worthy. I am enough. I wasn’t “given” a belt promotion just by virtue of continuing to show up; I earned it.
Me after hour one: feeling pretty hyped.
A sampling of the fun we endured:
Punches on the wave bags for speed, power, and technique
Sparring: one-on-one, two-on-one, and constant switching-out of sparring partners
Drilling choke defenses
Grappling drills, including kicking from the ground
Drilling knife defense and gun defense
Finale: “shark bait” many-on-one defense, including knife, gun, stick, chokes, bear hugs, headlocks, et al.
By hour three, I was in the zone, mildly displeased at my physical limitations, and wanting this to be over already.
I see now, looking at my Hour Three Selfie, why my classmates all say I look so intense and angry when I’m going hard. I look pretty pissed. I’m a little intimidated by Black Belt Test Selfie Diana, truth be told. She looks like she is NOT going to put up with any shit.
Is that really me?
Hell, yes.
We did it. We all did it. Whether we were scared or hesitant or unsure or excited or nervous or what have you, we all made it happen. We all lifted each other up along the way, and came out the other side as stronger people.
We didn’t just show up. We showed up and kicked ass.
