the turning point

Taking control of the steering wheel

Imagine how great it would be to have just one extra hour in the day to get done exactly what you wanted to complete. Now, let’s take a look at how much time you spend in a day worrying about the things you’re not getting done. How much time do you spend convincing yourself that this is alright? Or what about the energy you expand on being frustrated and angry that you’re not even close to getting the things done you used to.

For me, I would start out gung-ho with a plan and an agenda of how I was going to get everything I needed to do done. Then usually a “crisis” would come up which needed my attention more than my schedule did. Now the crisis didn’t have to be very big like a cracked tooth or a school invent, but usually it’s something that just needs all my attention. Slowly but surely the things that I had put on my schedule were being left undone. Don’t get me wrong, I did enjoy doing some of the things that interrupted my day, but I didn’t love all of them. What would happen is that I would start worrying late into the night and wondering whether or not anything was ever going to get finished.

I started waking up earlier in the day just so that I could get in some of the things I wanted to do for myself, such as meditating. At the end of the day there was never enough time to finish cleaning up the house and making sure that the lunches were ready for the next day or making sure that my mother in law was dressed for bed. This all led to me fretting and worrying into the night trying to get everything done. Waking up earlier, and stressing at night, inevitably led to shorter nights.

Then came the breaking point. My days as the family octopus and go to girl had met their demise. I was sleep deprived, angry and overburdened by everyone’s imagined and real demands. I had completely worn myself out. My body started to give out, and I was bed ridden with the flu. While I was in bed unable to perform at my usual efficient level my brain had gone into overdrive. My inner critic went to town on a litany of abuse for not being there for everyone. I didn’t understand why I couldn’t control the superwoman driving my bus anymore. I had wound up in the ditch, wheels up and I needed to hit the eject button to survive this crash.

Then my brain as the benevolent observer of my life came in.

It was demanding that I get help, and pronto.

What came next is a host of research which finally landed me in self coaching scholars. It was something I could learn and do at my pace, and since I felt very trapped, I was happy that I could do this from my own home.

The lessons I was learning and the relief I began to feel urged me to help others (you) to learn and change your own thinking and teach you how to get the life you want if the life you have is not working for you To find out more about how you can start taking these steps and book now.

Get back being in the driver’s seat of your own life.


Wait, it’s not the end of the story. Part 7

Wait, it’s not the end of the story. Part 7

Will it ever be the end? Remember in the first instalment, my mother, who is a generation younger than my MIL, still lives in our home. Admittedly, she has been her twenty-five years and has not required any sort of long-term physical support except the occasional broken foot, twisted ankle and other such ailments that keep her from walking her beloved Schnauzer.

The Turning Point. Part 5

The Turning Point. Part 5

In life, things keep going along in a straight line and nothing really changes much until there is an interruption, so it was in our story. The progressing mental decline of my MIL and her advanced age of 94 along with the inherent loss of visual acuity, strength, and balance all converged in one mighty crash. On a chilly Friday afternoon just before dinner, while we were relaxing and getting ready for a weekend, there came a huge bang from above. My daughter and I heard it, without thinking, we raced upstairs. We found my MIL where she had fallen getting up from her easy chair. She was aware and in considerable pain.
Thank goodness that in that moment everyone was home, we called 911 and the paramedics came in about five minutes. Hauling her tiny broken body down three flights of stairs was another matter entirely, it was done on an old-fashioned cloth and pole stretcher.
The surgery was thankfully scheduled for Saturday, it could be performed without general anesthesia to which she reacted badly. The family rallied and sat with her around the clock. For a month we watched her recover physically and battled the administration to find her an appropriate placement in a memory care facility.