I’ve not stopped. Like literally, not stopped for the last two months or so. Every weekend has been jam-packed and many weekday evenings, too. Weekends away, gigs, parties, racing, festivals, baby showers. You name it. There has been something on the calendar that I just haven’t been able to get out of and, after running myself ragged, last week my body succumbed to the dreaded cold. And you might be screaming, “oh poor you, only a cold?!” but seriously, this one has hit me like a tonne of bricks (and the poor sods that I’ve passed it on to as well!) Never have I realised just how much I need to start re-practicing a little bit of slow living!
I am the first person to preach about “the art of slow living” – I live and breathe it. When I can, that is. My non-guilty pleasures are taking long dog walks in the countryside, finding myself in pub a with an ice-cold beer and a roaring fire. That, and slobbing in front of the TV watching Gilmore Girls on repeat.
Life is so fast paced. And I was getting caught up in it. I’ve felt like I’ve always gotta be on the go. I want to work hard in my new job and prove my worth. I really want my blog to succeed, how I’m not sure, but there will be an end goal somewhere.
I basically want to boss everything I’m doing whilst living a rather extravagant social life at the same time and, for the most part, I’ve managed to keep it up.
But, my body has decided otherwise. As soon as I walked through the door at work last week on Thursday, I was marched back out. My eyes were streaming. I was coughing my guts up. My nose has not stopped running. I’ve not stopped sneezing. My throat has almost seized up on me.
I was not in a good way.
Reluctantly, I tried to decline but thank the lord someone offered to take me home because as soon as I walked through the door I made myself a cup of tea and skulked off upstairs to bed and fell straight to sleep (with the help of some 400mg ibuprofen!)
I slept through my phone buzzing with calls and texts. My body was clearly well and truly drained of energy. I was out for the count.
I definitely needed some down time.
When James got home from work and saw the house was still a mess (I have a terrible habit of cleaning even when I’m not well) that when I came down the stairs in my pj’s, fresh from my gazillionth nap of the day, he turned to me and said “don’t go to work tomorrow, you are not well at all.” (this came from the man who has had about 1 sick day in 14 years of working!)
So, I did just that, I took my husband’s advice and took another day to recuperate. More naps ensued and copious amounts of paracetamol and ibuprofen were consumed to keep my fever down. And in all honesty, I also didn’t want to spread the germs around more than I already had done.
And, even though I still feel quite crap (it’s getting passed around the office over and over again) these sick days gave me a new lease of life. The work I had was still there on the Monday to crack on with. There was no end of the world because I hadn’t done it. I’ve started to come to realise that I need to go a bit easier on myself and not beat myself up about taking time off to make myself better.
The moral of the story is to not try to be a hero. I’ve worked myself so hard this last year to try and succeed in every aspect of my life, that my body hasn’t thanked me for it in the long run. I need to try and start taking things a little bit slower over the next couple of months, and really listen to what my body is telling me.
You might think the whole “slow living” thing is a gimmick but it’s safe to say that when I’m practicing it, that I live my best life and also, less ill!
Do you practice #theartofslowliving? Or do you get a terrible case #FOMO and try cram a lot in?
I'm Bee. 27 year old who is finally starting to understand herself. A Scorpio that's too nice to use that sting in her tail, regularly found searching for holidays or online shopping. Happiest when being fed, travelling & spending time with Mr C.