by Beth Woolsey -

New Plan: It’s OK to Rest

I took the day off yesterday. 

I didn’t want to. I didn’t feel great about it. I detest asking for help because my Lizard Brain believes Not Doing All the Things is  a clear and obvious sign of weakness and is, therefore, the very WORST activity in which I can (not) participate. But I’ve been working lately on a Grand Experiment I’ve creatively named It’s OK to Rest. I’m a firm believer that, if you repeat words to yourself enough times, you’ll begin to think they’re actually true. That’s why I thought I was stupid for so long — also ugly and fat, bless my heart — so I figure if I can use my Awesome Mind Powers for Monumentally Damaging Evil, then I can turn that poop pile around and use it for good.  ...  read more

by Beth Woolsey -

Kindness Is Messy: So Is Spaghetti, But I Still Recommend It

I gathered my retreat makers together last weekend in a cabin in the high desert of Oregon with snow piled high outside, and we worked on how we might gather humans in 2020 and beyond for rest and respite from our weary world — and how we might convey the message we’re all worthy of infinite love exactly as we already are. We talked about ways to hone our craft. We talked about ways to be authentic, supportive community. And we ate as much as possible at little, local restaurants, braving the icy sidewalks in search of sticky Thai chicken wings and Cuban pulled pork served on fried plantains.  ...  read more

by Beth Woolsey -

Turns Out, I’m Coffee: Thoughts on Managing Mental Illness

I hit a mental wall last week, on Thursday, at noon. 

I pulled into my driveway after my morning tasks, sent a few urgent texts, crafted my plan for the afternoon which consisted of Too Many Commitments and No Time to Shower, and couldn’t shake the increasing sense of impending doom. It wasn’t a feeling, per se; not an emotion, necessarily. It was more of a physical response. Fight or Flight. Or Freeze. Or, my personal favorite, Fall Apart. My heartbeat was rapid. My breaths were shallow. Everything on my schedule felt overwhelming and unmanageable, as it had for days, and I could acknowledge to myself in the quiet of my car that the mental illness wall was rising, brick by brick, and getting consistently higher. ...  read more

by Beth Woolsey -

Quick Life Tip: Frosted Mini Wheats with Brown Sugar and Garlic Salt Is Not OK, After All

I had Frosted Mini Wheats with a sprinkle of brown sugar and a dusting of garlic salt today which I initially decided was fine.

It was the usual situation. Four hours after waking up, I decided I ought to feed myself. Some people make themselves and their physical needs a priority, understanding that providing their own bodies with nourishment upon waking allows them to better care for others. I imagine they set their alarms for early in the morning, rise cheerfully before their children, make themselves multi-grain avocado toast or a two-egg omelette, and eat it from an actual plate while sitting at the kitchen table with a dare-I-say hot cup of coffee or bright lemon tea. I can only assume people like that are generally rational and well-adjusted with an appropriate balance of self-care… and that they don’t wake up in a high-strung panic after hitting snooze thirteen times, thinking of all the tasks they must accomplish immediately, or yesterday, or last year, and itemizing the ever-expanding list of people they’ve let down with their lack of follow-through on their Very Good Intentions. ...  read more

by Beth Woolsey -

We Accidentally Got Our Dog a Pet Bunny

We got our dog a pet bunny. Not on purpose. It was very much an accident. Still, that’s what happened, and now here we are.

This is my lap at home.

ALL THE TIME.

Someone please bring me coffee and a bedpan. I’m not moving anytime soon.

So what happened, you ask? Fine; I shall tell you. Here’s the long version.

My kid has a friend, and the friend’s name is Rowan.  ...  read more

by Beth Woolsey -

On Butting In and Why It’s Important if We Want to Build a Healthy Community

I met a man at 8:27am on Friday — let’s call him Rick — at a hospital where I’d dropped off my sister-in-law for an appointment. I was in the lobby waiting for her and considering the two-story glass and steel flower sculpture suspended from the dome in the ceiling — and, because there’s nothing like an anxiety/depressive disorder to steal joy, wondering how wise such a spectacular, delicate piece will seem after Cascadia, the Grand Earthquake tasked with killing us all, shakes it from its mooring — when Rick appeared on a cell phone call with his adult daughter.  ...  read more