A glorious day today! February, in the UK – the sun was shining, the temp was up to 13 degrees Celsius and it was too tempting to get out there.
Off we went, Lady M, two dogs and myself. I decided it was such a nice day that I was getting the legs out and donned a rather fetching pair of shorts. We live in a rural area in Oxfordshire, quite scenic in aspect and down by the river is no exception and good thing it was quiet as it meant not many people were scared by my legs.
I am often reminded that I don’t do enough exercise and although I enjoy walking in all weathers, it just takes me some convincing at times. When Lady M asked if I was coming for a walk, which I accepted, she said good as she didn’t have to force my hairy butt out the door, kicking and screaming. Like me, she knows that when you have depression and anxiety, getting out and walking for an hour in beautiful countryside is very good for you.
There are people more qualified to say definitively why it’s good. For me it’s the body and mind are inextricably linked, with mood affected by a build up of nasties that exercise burns up, gets rid from the body. Those lovely mood enhancers, the endorphins, flood your system in their place and make you feel so much better, so thanks to my darling wife for thinking of me, again.
Walking also helps me think, work things out and as we talked, I told her of something that was bothering me, niggling away and causing self doubt. Not that I need much help in that department right enough. A friend on Facebook messaged me recently and asked why I didn’t just get a job and never mind laying my life bare in my writing.
Despite the fact that they missed the point of my blog, rather spectacularly, I started questioning whether they are right or not. Should I get out and work? Give up the blog and stop writing about my thoughts? Stop laying my life on the pages for everyone to see? I can’t write for crap, so why bother trying? Just go get a job.
Before I go on, please don’t judge this person. In their experience, this was right for them, worked for them and writing is not in their thoughts. On reading, it did hurt me and then started the rumination, which can mean chewing and re-chewing of the cud in animals. It also means the constant train of thought, regurgitated, so both apply. Which brought me to writing this.
Fact is that writing for me is cathartic, therapy of getting it all out on the page and also the possibility that someone else going through a similar experience finds some comfort in my ramblings, helping them in some way. That means a lot to me and hope it does to you, as the reader.
On the point of working, I’m not ready. Two breakdowns in a year have kicked me square in the guts and with my mood being all over the place recently, I’m not convinced it would be a good thing for me. Letting people down and not being able to do a job, even part time, seem like they could be a crushing blow to the self esteem. This, I hope, is temporary.
In short, exercise, talk and don’t sweat the small stuff. If you enjoy what you do, then why not carry on doing it? If it makes you feel good and there is a benefit, carry on with it. If it doesn’t, change it.
I really need to learn to be more kind to myself.