Why I’m scared to work

September 14, 2015

Up until a few years ago, I just assumed I’d work a full time job. At one point I quit a job where I was miserable and I took some time off before going back to work, but of course I assumed I’d get another job, and I did. I always worked.

Until I didn’t.

I’m coming up on the 4 year anniversary of when I left my job for what I thought was a few months to rest and recover. Little did I know….

A lot has happened in those 4 years. At the start, doing any sort of work was out of the question. It took every ounce of energy I had to cook dinner or read a book. I didn’t have the physical or mental ability to do any sort of paid work.

Then slowly, I saw some improvement. I began to leave the house more. I did some volunteer work from home. I did favors for friends that involved using my brain in ways that I hadn’t in a while. My cognitive abilities still weren’t what they had been, but they were better. My physical health had improved, too.

As I felt better, I wanted to do more. I started thinking about small ways to make money. I sold my crafts. I did some more of the consulting that I’d let fall away. Someone asked if they could hire me to help them with a project and I said yes. It felt so good to get paid! Still, I was no where near being able to cover my bills. I needed something bigger.

I thought about that person who hired me out of the blue. I thought about the clients I had. That was good money with a flexible schedule and I could do most of it from home. In fact, with a little creativity and Skype, I could probably do it all from home. So how could I get more clients?

I don’t have all the answers, but I do have an initial plan. I’ve been reading a lot, I’ve listened to podcasts, and I joined Facebook groups of other people trying to make money in similar ways. The difference, of course, is that most them are working full time and they work on their side businesses in the mornings, after work, and on weekends. Even so, they probably put in a lot more hours than I can. On a good week I can do 5-10 hours, and on a bad week I’ll be lucky to do 2. So I figure that if they can earn good money in a matter of months, then I should be able to do the same within a year.

With a lot of the research done, I crafted my plan. And then I got stuck. I was scared. At the beginning, I probably won’t earn much, but what if I begin to earn more? How will I handle that? If I earn more than $780 per month for 9 months, and those months don’t need to be consecutive, then I’ll lose my social security benefits. That means I’d better earn enough to make up for that! But actually, that’s not the part that scares me.

No, what scares me is 3 years from now, and 10 years from now. If I can manage to earn a few thousand dollars per month doing work from home that I somewhat enjoy and that doesn’t strain me too much, then yay! Fantastic! Perfect! But what if I can’t keep it up? What if 3 years from now I’m back to where I was 4 years ago, completely unable to do any paid work? And I’ll need to reapply for social security. And what if I don’t get it? Or what if that happens 10 years from now? Or in 10 months? Or 6 1/2 years? Will I be living always in fear of being unable to support myself?

Yes.

But what if I don’t do this? What if I stay on social security without working? I’ll be watching my savings dwindle as I use them to pay for all of the things that my benefits don’t cover, like medical expenses, electricity, some of my groceries, car expenses, part of my rent, everything related to my car, and any sort of entertainment (yeah, right!) And what will happen when my savings run out?

So I have to do this. I have no choice. If I could work a regular hourly job then I could make sure my income stayed consistently at $779, but that just isn’t an option. So I know I need to do this.

But I’m still scared.


Learning it’s ok to cry

September 11, 2015

A couple years ago I wrote about the fact that I don’t cry much about my health situation but I wasn’t sure why. By contrast, I know exactly why I don’t cry from the pain itself, and that’s because it started when I was a kid, and I learned fast that the adults in my life thought that I was just trying to get attention. If I cried, they thought that even more. So I didn’t cry.

Fast forward to my 30s, and I still don’t usually cry from pain, frustration, or fear. I cry for other reasons – a sad book, the death of a loved one, and such and elicit tears, even though health issues rarely do.

In the last year, though, I’ve been making more of an effort to let myself cry when I want to. It’s cathartic, so why not? I do so much to try and help my health, both physical and mental, so shouldn’t I be willing to cry?

I started with simple things: I didn’t try to stop myself a few weeks ago when I was reading a sad scene in a book. Before, I would try to hold back the tears and fail; this time I didn’t try to hold them back. I let a few tears escape when I was dealing with a difficult health decision. It was a good start. And then came the real test.

When I was in the ER last week the pain was horrible, but even worse was the fear. My anxiety around doctors has been getting worse, and I was practically panicked at the idea of a doctor I didn’t know giving me stitches. What if he messed up? What if there was a broken bone they hadn’t noticed on the x-ray? What if he somehow hurt me? On top of that the pain was intense. For a while, I tried not to cry out of habit. Then, finally, I had an epiphany: it was ok to cry! This doctor didn’t know me or my history. I would never see him again. Plus, crying in this situation was not only acceptable, it was expected. I mean, I had a big cut that had been bleeding for hours and the doctor was dabbing at it to get away enough blood that he could see it clearly. Of course it hurt like hell! Why shouldn’t I cry?

So the tears came. They poured down my face and I did nothing to stop them. I didn’t make a scene. I didn’t yell or scream or sob loudly. I didn’t exaggerate but I also didn’t hold back. And you know what? It felt so much BETTER to let all of that out!

This is a long process. I need to unlearn more than 20 years of habit, but I know I can do it. I just need to make more of an effort to cry when I feel the need to cry. Wish me luck!

Does this sound familiar? Have you experienced anything similar? Please comment below – I’d love to hear your story!


Even “healthy” people need time to recover

September 6, 2015

We get so used to dealing with pain every day, it’s easy to forget what a huge effect an acute incident can have on our health.

It’s easy to see “healthy” people and assume they heal quickly and easily from every malady. I get a “cold” that knocks me on my ass for a full week, with fever, chills, congestion, and plenty of other symptoms. The friend who gave me the cold goes about their regular routine while dealing with the sniffles for a few days. So when I react poorly to a new condition, I always assume someone “healthier” would have healed quickly.

That’s why I was giving myself a hard time this week. The incident involved my own clumsiness, a chef’s knife, a visit to the emergency room, and stitches. The day of the incident was horrible. The pain was horrific. The fear was deep. The next day was much better, but still painful. The day after that I assumed I’d be fine, so I was shocked when I wasn’t. I’m used to dealing with pain, so what was the problem?

A friend reminded me that “healthy” people need time to recover from something like this, so I should give myself time, too. My uncle reminded me of having to care for my aunt (his wife) last year when she had a biopsy in a location similar to where I was cut and spent 3 weeks recovering. And her operation was planned, whereas mine was clearly more physically traumatic. Story after story reminded me that “healthy” people take a while to recover from these things, so I should give myself a break, too.

After 3 days at home, I went out briefly yesterday. It was exhausting, but it felt good to be out and around people. Today, though, I’m resting again. I’m exhausted. I’m in pain. And I know I need a break.

I don’t have to worry about rushing to a job. I have enough food to last me a few more days. Sure, I have things to do. I’d like to cook and do laundry and read and work on a few projects, but I’m giving myself a break. Because if a “healthy” person needs time to recover from something like this, then I need even longer.

How do you handle acute injuries? Do you give yourself recovery time, too?


Feeling sick from imaginary germs

August 31, 2015

It isn’t always absurd. If a friend tells me she’s sick, and we just saw each other the day before, it makes some sense that I might worry I’ll get sick, too. Of course, what doesn’t make sense is when I immediately start feeling symptoms.

What makes less sense is when a friend mentions on Facebook that he’s sick and I start feeling sick, even though he lives 3000 miles away and we haven’t seen each other in a year.

It hasn’t always been this way, but somewhere along the lines, my anxiety about health issues snuck up on me and now I often feel sick at just the mention of illness.

Tonight was even worse: I felt sick as I listened to the narrator in the audio book I’m listening to describe feeling ill. She’s a fictitious character in a novel, and she probably isn’t even sick (or if she is, I’m guessing that it’s relevant to the plot in a very specific way, but I digress) and even those imaginary germs from a character in a novel got me feeling queasy.

It’s absurd. It makes no sense. But it happens all the time.

If anyone can explain this to me, I’d really appreciate it. Maybe if I understand it, I could learn to somehow avoid it!