I’m not normal…

I started an IG awhile back.

Originally, to follow one friend who had left FB because FB is basically your sophomore year in high school. Plus politics. Eventually, I started following people who were striving to lose weight and get fit. Like me, I thought. Initially, it was inspiring and motivating.

And then R needed to be at CFI and BAMC for care and rehab for ten weeks. The kids took care of the cats but all of the things that I normally do weren’t done. And we had to reschedule *everything* for the ten weeks that we were away. And we lost our dear puppy dog (she was 10.25 years old) to a sudden heart attack (or ruptured aneurysm – the vet could not definitively say without an autopsy and we just couldn’t do that to our girl) days before we left for SA.

I’ve been in full caregiver/mourning dog mum/person living in a hotel/person playing catch up since 1/12/19. And the support and motivation I once felt from my IG peeps that I followed (and who followed me) suddenly seemed less supportive and motivating and more judgmental. Because I was dealing with life and not working out 5-6 days a week and being *that* girl.

I’m not normal. My life is not normal. I don’t work outside the home but I work my ass off! And if I don’t take 20 or 60 minutes to do a “traditional” work out, that is my damn business! My husband and his medical and mental health needs come before working out. My house and yard come before working out. (My yard IS a work out! So is my house sometimes.)

I demo’d the screen porch and, with help, secured it from raccoons with chicken wire. I moved my 279 pound washing machine SIX times and fixed the leak that it had. I’ve cut down limbs and mowed the lawn and blown leaves and weed whacked. I’ve done FIFTY loads of laundry since my return mid March! (I know because my washer tells me to run the self clean cycle after 46 loads) I’m fixing to screen said porch, change a second story spotlight (I’m terrified of heights) and put up a ceiling fan this weekend.

Being the *everything* in my home is MY normal. It may not seem normal to “normals”, but it is what it is. I guess what I’m trying to say is that shaming me pisses me off. People only know what I *choose* to share. I keep the majority to myself because nobody likes tragic people. And trying to stuff me in their “normal” box pisses me off. But what REALLY pisses me off is some “normal” telling me about self care.

Girl, you don’t even know. Some days self care is a cup of coffee. Some days it’s getting a shower before 8pm. Some days it’s a “traditional” workout. Let me do me, and you do you – okay, BooBoo?

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