I had a bad day the other day. Some are like that. Some days are coffee and some days are cream. Some days are the dregs at the bottom of the coffee pot. Some days, though, are the left-over scrapings at the bottom of the compost bucket. This was one of them.
Now I’m not going to go into a long story telling you all about what happened and why I was so upset, not the least because it’s boring to anyone not living in my head, and it’s also not what I want to write about. What I want to write about it What I Did.
What do YOU do on those Bad Days?
Well, yes. I thought of that too. Unfortunately I have an intolerance to chocolate (I KNOW! No joke. Small amounts are fine, but regular small amounts give me serious PMT symptoms, which is not pleasant, and–to tell you the truth–possibly contributed to the reason I was feeling so bad the other day in the first place).
So I did the next best thing: I went for a walk in the sunshine and listened to my favourite music. This time it didn’t help. Actually, it made me cry.
Facebook didn’t help, although it gave me another idea. Retail therapy. Six nice bowls, a Dr Pepper, and the dream of fluffy towels later I still didn’t feel any better. Granted though, I had six nice new bowls. And a Dr Pepper (although I didn’t sleep well that night. Has anybody invented caffeine-free Dr Pepper yet? Can I have some please?).
Now you’re probably thinking “D’uh girl. Tackle the source of the problem if it’s that upsetting. Stop trying to bandaid it with fizzy drinks/soda/pop/disgusting sugar-laden cough-syrup-tasting-weirdness (whatever you prefer to call it)”, and normally I would. I’m good at that. Unfortunately I was well aware that the problem this day was basically me.
So the next thing on the list was to start tackling some of the stuff that was getting me down. I cleaned my daughter’s bedroom, and got rid of an insane amount of stuff (she hasn’t commented. Possibly hasn’t noticed), and hung out with a friend for a while during the Great Purge. Both of these helped me feel a little better, but the results were small (in me, not in my daughter’s bedroom) and I needed more than that. I needed serious help.
It took a long, long time to get to this, and I can’t believe it took me this long, but by the end of the day I did the thing I should have done in the morning, and saved myself a few tears and a bunch of heartache: I told a friend.
I don’t know why the right thing to do is often the last thing we think of. I do know that I’ve been well out of practice in letting people in on how I’m feeling, for reasons such as “they’ve got problems of their own, they don’t need mine”, and “it’s not really anything serious, it’s just me having a bad day”, and “there’s nothing anybody can do about it, so why bother sharing it?”.
All of this is, in fact, rubbish.
Yes, my friends all have problems of their own. But they love me. And not only did I not “burden them” (as it’s so easy to think of it as), sharing it lightened my load considerably. Even if it was just dumb stuff in my head. Dumb stuff in heads can cause heads to explode sometimes. That’s why God invented mouths: our release valves.
I feel better now. Much, MUCH better. And I have six new bowls and a clean daughter’s-bedroom as well.
What about you? Do you ever struggle with opening up to people, even trusted friends? What do you do when you’re having a day straight from the compost heap?