Adjusting to my New Normal

Last week, I set up a poll for you guys, asking what you wanted to see from me on How to be a Difficult Woman. You overwhelming voted for more personal essays, so here I am: delivering. You ask and you shall receive. I am but a humble servant to your reading needs.

Needless to say, my life has gone through a good amount of turbulence lately. And since I shared my road to early retirement and my health diagnoses, it’s only fair that I give a little update.

Everyone’s been asking me, “What’s next?”

And here is my answer:

I’ve never been one that had to work to find happiness. My identity as a human being was never tied to my profession. Or at least, that’s what I thought. I naïvely believed that I could proudly announce that I had no job without a second thought. I was wrong.

The first time I met someone new and they asked me, “What do you do?” I was embarrassed. And then I was embarrassed at my embarrassment. I am a confident human! I should be able to answer that question without feeling silly. And I did answer, I’m a retired attorney, but I was feigning confidence. Truth was, I felt useless in that moment.

What do I do for a living?

Nothing.

Ouch.

It turns out there was a part of me, of myself, that was tied to my profession. I took pride in being an attorney and being able to say I was a lawyer. Unbeknownst to me. Because typically, whenever I was asked that question before retirement, I often said I was a writer just to avoid the inevitable legal question.

It’s always something like, “Oh that’s cool. Hey can I ask you a question? My brother is going through a divorce in Nevada and…”

Giant eye roll. Please don’t do this to lawyers. We don’t know the answer.

There are times when I feel rudderless. Useless. Lazy. Like many of my generation, I was raised to believe that your self-worth is tied to your productivity. What you get done in a day. And sitting at home, writing a manuscript that may never see the light of day and querying another that is getting no bites, can sometimes feel like nothing.

I’ve started cleaning my own house for the first time in over a decade. Which I think I might actually like….(who am i?). I try and do all of the dishes and then apologize if I see Coby doing them. I feel immense guilt if Coby’s doing laundry. I pick up dog poop, pull weeds, clean the pool area, and then when Coby gets home, I list off the things that I’ve done as if to prove that I’m worthy of love and attention.

He’s starting telling me, unprompted, “you are not lazy.”

Something I need to hear.

It’s strange, having an entire day in the middle of the week to do whatever I want. But truly, I’m not doing nothing. And I’m certainly not bored. I’ve been creating.

I had an acquaintance ask me if I was bored. And then I conspiratorially told my dear friend Courtney that someone asked me if I was bored. She cackled with laughter. Those who really know me know I have a million hobbies and can occupy myself with just about anything. My brain is like a squirrel - it’s always hopping from one thing to the next. I guess it’s a benefit of having ADHD. A diagnosis we haven’t even touched because in triaging my issues, it’s low on the list.

What I’ve been thinking a lot about lately is how easy it would be to actually do nothing. Which would lead to more depression and more issues. I could use my bipolar diagnosis as an excuse to laze about or turtle into myself. There are times when I want to, or I feel justified in thinking that I should start watching soap operas.

I really should start watching soap operas though. Don’t ya think?

And it’s not like living with bipolar is a cake walk. I’ve spent the last two months getting poked and prodded and everything in between. Multiple blood draws, an ultrasound on my kidneys when some of that came back weird, and too many appointments to list.

But my team is assembled. I have an MD that I love and is a dear friend, my psychiatrist, a therapist, a message therapist, acupuncturist, naturopath, and — in case of emergencies — a medium. If you’re local and looking for help, most of these folks are in Wenatchee or practice over zoom, so let me know and I’ll hook you up with their info.

Right now, I have no plans to find a full time job. I’m coaching fitness and weightlifting classes at CrossFit Covey in Wenatchee, and writing. I’m occupied and happy, most days.

It’s been a rollercoaster and I’ve gone through tremendous change in the past four months. My brain betrayed me and hormones pushed me to over the brink. I had a mental breakdown. Not the fun sorta, “ha ha I’m having a menty b” sort of thing, but the real kind. And it was rough. Surreal. Hard to comprehend, even as the person who went through it.

No bueno.

Zero stars. Do not recommend.

So for now, I’m not thinking about what’s next. I’m getting my feet back underneath me and adjusting to my new normal. To a brain that is being held together by SSRIs and anti-psychotics.

And if RFK Jr. thinks he can ban SSRIs, he’s wrong. Our fucked up government can take my anti-depressants out of my cold, dead hands. I swear to god. I will go to war for those small, white pills. Do not even try me, fucker.

Because I know what it’s like not to have them. My brain does not function normally (and neither does RFK Jr.’s but that a rant for another day). Living without these drugs would be hell on earth. It would be torturous. So once again, Trump’s entire cabinet can go fuck themselves. But I digress.

For now, I have my lovely drugs, my puppies, my supportive and loving husband, witchcraft, and snacks. Truly, what else does a girl need?

If you have any questions about my recovery journey, living with bipolar, crafting or really anything else, please reach out. I’m an open book (obvi).

Remember, stay difficult and always question authority.