Weekend company is coming tomorrow and today my simplified tasks were to clean two latrines-not the rooms they were in-just the commodes. I wanted them to sparkle and so began my task but, again, amid my attempt my limit was reached and I said, “I’m done”; kindly, Per finished the rest.
I push myself to the point of tears and sometimes cry a bit in exhaustion, but reason always tells me to accept what is and my refined self says, “It’s okay.” (Thankfully, my tears only last for a couple of seconds and aren’t followed by laments or pouts.)
I know myself and that I do everything to the nth degree, don’t stop until the job is done, and never give up. I push myself to the point of exhaustion and tears and know the logic behind it, but it’s still frustrating. Accepting what “is” doesn’t mean that I stop trying or even like reality but that I accept it in order to feel peace.
Typing this has allowed my body to cool down and my heart to beat like normal. I’m happy to at least try and know that my limitations won’t last forever; in eternity I’ll be entirely well. My good thought echos the words of Louise Hay, “In the infinity of life where I am, all is perfect, whole, and complete.”