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 doing 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 do what I can 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.”