Tag Archives: exhausted

NaPoWriMo 2020 Day 25


I stayed up until 3am sewing masks.
Today I sewed more masks.
I’m glad I can sew, glad I have fabric,
glad I can help in some way.
But I am so, so tired now.
I remember that if I’m running on empty
I can’t fill anyone else up.
Somehow I managed to make it through today,
being a mom, being an adult,
being someone who wants to help by making masks.
We had three good meals and plenty of snacks,
we went on a walk in the beautiful sunshine.
We laughed, talked, shared,
and I short-circuited plenty of little spats
with my own brand of silly mom humor.
But now I’m empty, barely running on fumes.
There’s only one thing left to do
(after showering and brushing my teeth, of course)—

Better That Way


I wake up anxious
and it isn’t yet the middle of the night.
Ah, it’s going to be a long one.
Two hours later
and still sleep hasn’t come.
I close my eyes,
I hope and hope for respite.
I look at the time,
each hour crawling by
so slowly it’s painful.
The morning comes finally.
I take my seat,
dive into my practice,
find enough of my Self
to act like everything is okay
when he leaves the house early
without telling me why.
I ask no questions.
It’s better that way.

Before I Lay My Head Down


Read man: he is the living poem.

I am tired
but there is much to be done
before I lay my head down on the pillow.
I want to be good.
I want to be prepared.
I want to make it through
the long day tomorrow.
If I’m going to make it through,
I need sleep.
But there is so much to be done
before I lay my head down on the pillow.

I’m teaching a workshop on the practice of gratitude tomorrow, and in keeping with my normal fashion, I waited until tonight to complete the handouts I’ll be giving my students. Forty-one pages later, I’m finally printing the things out, and JEEZ is it taking time! Thank goodness for printers!  Thank goodness for this blanket keeping me warm down in the cold basement.  Thank goodness for all of my craziness, that one day I might know sanity.

Sunset First Aid


Inside I wanted to scream
but on the outside I remained calm
as I spoke in soothing tones
to my boy whose finger was gushing blood.

Instead of going to sleep right away
after I tucked him in for the night
he got out of bed and
managed to pinch his pinky finger tip
in the folding door of his closet

cries of pain
sent me running upstairs

finger tip blue and awful looking,
split skin
blood on his other hand
blood on his pajamas,
now blood on me,
and I couldn’t see…

two friends who had come over for dinner
were downstairs helping us to install a light fixture
and of course
lights were out while working on the wiring

so we stepped outside in the sunset
and I administered first aid in the dying light
mother, healer, soother,
I managed to remain calm
even though inside I wanted to scream

Nodding Off


in all of its beauty,
its mystery
its rollercoaster rides of ups and down,
life reminds me how far I have come,
and how far I have yet to go.

I’d love to publish
an in-depth exploration,
to include some musings
and insights
from my journal.

But I’m nodding off.
My body is telling me it’s tired,
and because I only have one,
I am going to show it great respect.

So, goodnight friends,
I’m giving myself the gift of rest.

Good Bye January


For some ungodly reason I found myself awake at 4:45 this morning. This is a gift, something said to me, Take it, and get up. But I resisted. I felt too tired. No,  I reasoned,  I might be able to go back to sleep. But the something was insistent. No really, this is a gift. Just get up. Up. Up. Up! I relented at 5:30, after confirming to myself multiple times that I really wasn’t going to fall asleep again, no matter how hard I tried. I went upstairs, sat on my cushion, meditated for 30 minutes. Although I felt tired and kept wanting to be in bed asleep, I was surprised when my bell rang to signal the end of my session. Whenever I lose track of time, it is a good sign that my meditation was deeper than usual. It’s easier to go deeper when everyone is asleep and the house is perfectly quiet.

Back downstairs I made myself some tea, got some quinoa started in the rice cooker, and sat down at the table to write in my journal. I witnessed the first rays of the sun, the way the sky changes from deep blue to pastel yellow-orange-pink-red. The trees silhouetted by the sun, the contrast of their dark shapes with the colorful sky behind them–such beauty witnessed all alone; I thought about painting a watercolor, wondered if I could capture even the tiniest hint of that beauty so that it might be shared later.

I wanted to read about svadhyaya, the fourth of the five niyamas, which comprise the second limb of the eight-limbed path of raja yoga. I’ve been stuck in my other blog, posting infrequently, because the pressure is so much greater to be authentic, to speak from experience, to draw on the knowledge of the masters with the hope that I might transmit this knowledge with honor, with clarity, with enthusiasm, so that students might want to continue exploring this path. I get myself so worked up looking for quotes to share, and real life examples to ground this philosophy in something tangible, something that can be grasped by the every day human being. So much pressure makes writing a drudgery. But this morning, I figured I might be able to tackle a post. I set all of my favorite yoga books out on the table. I lit a candle. I had my journal, my laptop, some post-it notes, lots of colorful pens.

And just when I was ready to really dive into it, I heard my son waking up. Ahh yes, I said to myself, I have everything ready, everything set up, and I could write for hours. It must be time for the children to wake up. I cleared the table of my books, my journal, the laptop. I blew out the candle and put it on a shelf out of reach. I fetched the boy child from his room; he was fussy and din’t want his normal morning banana. I was glad to see him.

Zzzzzzz. It’s almost ten and I’m falling asleep trying to formulate clear sentences. I’m exhausted beyond description. This day was long, full of challenges, and I’m ready for it to be over.

Part of my yoga practice is identifying my limits and modifying to meet those limits with clarity and compassion. I have reached one of my limits. I simply cannot write anymore today.

Blessings and sweet dreams…may I awaken ready to awaken.


(By the way, pausing to celebrate one full month of posting every single day. One month down, eleven to go. Good-bye January, hello February!)

Polar Vortex


It’s freaking cold out. It’s the end of a long day and I’m tired. Writing seems futile–why did I decide to do this again?

This day was spent taking care of children, cooking, cleaning, transporting groceries, having temper tantrums, and finding a bit of time and space to sew. My reversible tote bag deviated from the one the teacher demonstrated online, but hey, I made a tote.

I have so much resistance in me. I lack the energy to dig down deep and try to make meaning. My meditation practice awaits me, and I can foresee a lot of drowsiness as I attempt to remain upright for thirty minutes of silently repeated passages.

The yoga sutras tell us that a practice becomes firmly established when attended to for a long time, without interruption, and with enthusiasm. At this point, my writing practice seems like a far off dream, or better yet a joke; this moment I can feel no enthusiasm for what I’m doing, just doubt that this serves any purpose. This is post number 7 of 365 anticipated posts. I know this place of wanting to give up. I’ve been here many times before. But look, even if what I have written is complete crap, at least I showed up and wrote something.

Sitting here, so tired, wanting completion, I wonder what writing will feel like in the spring, after this crazy polar vortex is just a memory. I can do this writing thing, I know I can. I gave birth to two children, I’ve managed to keep them alive thus far. I show up to teach seven yoga classes a week and have taught hundreds of students how to breathe with awareness. I know I can sit at this keyboard and tap out a few words if I put my mind to it, even if it feels like the most useless, detestable thing in the world.

Cold wind blows. I am so glad I have a bed.