 |
| Image courtesy of Pexels on Pixabay |
We are immersed in a cultural belief that working hard is ethical, moral and good. A corollary is that having a lot of stuff, especially the newest, shiniest stuff, is also good. This is the mantra of capitalism. Work hard. Buy stuff. Then you will be happy.
I have never found this to be true. The shiniest stuff always loses its sheen. We call this “hedonic adaptation.” More is never enough. We keep chasing after happiness and security that only exist in some future that we never fully arrive at.
This is good for corporations - people who sell stuff and their investors. We work hard - for THEM. They employ us to make and sell stuff, creating the illusion that we are lucky to be working at all. We produce and perform so that when our performance is reviewed every year or so, we may be blessed with a raise that, maybe, if we’re lucky, keeps up with inflation.
We are exhausted from the hours of work and the anxiety of wondering if we are working hard enough or long enough. We compare ourselves to the coworker who arrives before 7am and stays till 7pm. Then we go home and seek solace on Amazon. We comfort ourselves with a new toy, a gadget for the kitchen, a bigger, better or faster version of something we already have that’s just fine.
I used to do this with books. I kept shelves and shelves of books. I had been an English major. My books were part of my identity. I was a reader. I was intelligent. I read high-brow literature. I was special and interesting and good enough. Then I had to move seven times in two years. That cured me of my book habit. Turns out I was still special, interesting, and good enough.
In my forties, I had bought-in to the work long and hard ethic. I had worked my way through grad school and worked three different internships to get my MFT license as quickly as possible. I then learned all I could about marketing and began filling my practice. After a few years, I began teaching other therapists to market themselves. I taught classes at my local rec and parks. I began working with a programmer to create an online directory. I hired an intern to work for me. I was “on” all the time, attending networking events, planning my next meeting, session or class.
Then I broke, thank goodness.
I had been ignoring repetitive stress injuries for years. Now I could not ignore them. The pain was immobilizing. I had been stuffing down frustration and irritation when others didn’t meet my perfectionistic standards. Instead of easing my expectations or teaching others how I wanted things done and why, I just did everything myself.
I let go of the intern. I let go of the directory. I stopped teaching. I stopped networking. I reduced my client hours. I did not lean in. I leaned out. And something amazing happened. I felt better. I aimed for 12 sessions a week, working Monday-Wednesday. I worked about 70% less, but my income only dropped about 10%, then quickly recovered as my skills and presence improved and I could charge more. I had been doing all that extra work for no reward.
I focused on healing my body. I learned how to putter and meander. I felt my anxiety and drive to get things done gradually ebb as I settled into a slower lane. I could hear myself think again. I could feel my feelings. I could give myself rest and care that filled me up so well that I became a much better therapist, a better friend, and a better spouse. Ahhhh.
In the spring of 2020, I forgot those lessons for a while. As COVID shut down the economy, I lost some clients and reduced fees for others. I began working more again. And by June, I realized I was back in high-stress mode, cranky, frustrated, and suddenly craving junk food - my drug of choice and the thing I had used in the past to band-aid over distress instead of responding tenderly to it.
I planned a vacation, driving 6 hours to see my beloved sister and have some play time. Though it was wonderful, it was not enough. On the long drive home, I realized I had slipped into my old way of managing anxiety - working harder. It didn’t work then, and it wasn’t working now.
I decided to try something that my own therapist had done - shifting to an every-other-week work schedule. This week is my first week seeing clients from Monday to Thursday. Friday will begin a ten day stretch of time where I unplug from everything. I have auto-replies ready to go so clients know when I will be back to work. For ten days, twice each month, my time will be my own. I will be able to follow my inner compass, to nap when I am tired, eat when I am hungry, read or write when I feel inclined, take walks once the weather cools down.
I know I am privileged to be working for myself in a field where I can do this. I also know that we must, each of us, be the change we want to see in the world - to whatever degree that is possible. I used to think that living this way - slowly, inwardly - was just not an option. I had bought in to the notion that in order to survive I would have to go along with the cultural setup, work my 40+ hours, and find a way to be happy with a weekend off (in which there was laundry and shopping and cleaning to do). But each time I have taken the risk of rejecting these cultural norms, wonderful things happen.
So I am leaping again, not just for my own wellbeing, but to walk my talk and model self care that is expansive and exquisite. I am choosing to have less stuff so I can have more time - time being something that we can never make more of.
I am thrilled at the prospect of allowing my mind and body extended periods of rest and unstructured time to recharge my energy and creativity. Last week I just had a few clients - people I had not yet moved to the new schedule. Even so, the spaciousness of the week was magnificent. I read a lot. I napped. I puttered. I let go of rigidity about home-maintenance.
There are projects to do and organizing that would make life easier. But with long stretches of time, I feel no pressure to get things done before my next commitment. Out of this ease comes a natural arising of desire to do or not do. Last week I was delighted to have spontaneous urges to write about my work, trusting that whatever came up would eventually be part of a book or a class - but not needing to know that or control it in advance.
I trust that in the coming weeks, I will feel that same spontaneous pull to organize and clean, to work on the projects that need tending. I trust that rest itself and unstructured time are the fertile soil of these other pursuits. I have heard my beloved therapist describe how this is for her, and she has never steered me wrong. I have felt this on a smaller scale, when I first cut back to working three days a week. I am looking forward to seeing what unfolds from this new decision to do less.
We are in a time of change - forced change as the planet responds to our unbalanced work ethic - our bizarre drive to fill the air, the oceans and the landfills with ever more polluting stuff. I hope that in making this personal change for my own self care I inspire you to think about how you might do less and thrive. Time is the one commodity that is limited. To paraphrase Mary Oliver, what is it you want to do with your one wild and precious life?
