Coping with Stress

I was going to work today.  I got all ready, assembled my stripper gear, hyper-groomed everywhere, double-checked everything, kissed my fiance, walked to the door--

And then I stopped and put my gear away, slipped into a pair of pajamas and sat back down on the couch where we hang out.  I know if I'd gone, I would have made money.  My heart just wasn't in it today.  My fiance was sitting on the couch, and he looked like the embodiment of all coziness.  I wanted nothing more than to sit on the couch with him and savor his company.  So I did.

I've been stressed out all week.  It seems to have taken forever for me to catch on to the fact.  Stress seems to work differently on every individual, and on me it's virtually invisible.  I can be stressed to hell and back, and I might be completely oblivious to it.  And nearly everyone else around me will be oblivious to it, too.  It's not like stress manifests outwardly me, either.

That doesn't sound so bad, except that just because a problem's invisible doesn't mean it isn't there.  A perfect example is my novel.  I've got it all finished-- rough draft, first tuning draft-- all except for one chapter.  One chapter.  And for some reason, I can't seem to finish that chapter.  The stress is so overwhelming I just shut down completely the moment I open the program to begin working on it.  It's one crumby chapter in the center of the novel.  I could probably delete those four silly pages, and no one would notice them missing from the story!

How do I know it's stress that's stopping me from finishing the novel?  Well, I've had it done for half a year now.  I've been sitting on the damn thing for half a year, and meditating, and soul-searching, and trying to figure out what the big deal is that's stopping me from completing it.  So far, the best I've figured out with all that introspection is that the cause of my problem is stress-related.  (Way to go Sherlock.)

So, earlier today I figured out that I'm under stress.  That's great.  Now I just have to figure out what's causing the stress.  And if the stress was invisible, the stressor is doubly so.

So what am I stressed about?  My lack of money?  My search for a new job?  My fear that I'll hate the job I take?  My nagging perfectionistic tendencies toward self-criticism centering on my questionable work ethic and lack of life achievements?

Perfectionism: no matter how much awesome shit you do, you always wish you were more awesome.

Or maybe it's social anxiety-- you know, the social anxiety I pretend doesn't exist because my perfectionistic side insists that I can get through this busy, crowded world like any normal person even if I have a heart attack in the process.

LOL.  In fact, I've got to say that for all my dysfunctions, I've stitched together a relatively functional psyche for myself.  It's one of the things I'm proud of.  Life's worn me down a fair bit.  I'm a creature haunted by irrational fears and nagging phobias.  And yet, I work every day to conquer them.  Every day, I force myself to learn and experience new things-- despite my timidity-- because I refuse to let my fears limit me.

It's a challenge, and I challenge any human I meet to do the same.  Life's to short to lose to irrational anxieties.  (Rational anxieties, however, are another matter entirely, which is how I justify my never-ending fear of spiders.  Sometimes, they're poisonous.)

And at the same time, whatever's stressing me out this week is showing up from the inside out, so going out and facing the world probably isn't going to fix all that much.  Taking a quiet evening to spend with my beloved, cuddling the kitty-cat who's decided to use my shoulder as a pillow right now, meditating, writing out my thoughts-- now that I think will help me.

Perhaps the reason I'm stressed out right now, I that I feel a lack of control over my situation.  I've set a due date to quit stripping.  That's a thing many other girls can't make themselves do.  The problem is, that I don't know what I'll do after that.  I've been exploring my options.  I'd love to grow food to sell at a farmer's market, but I don't know how lucrative that would be.  It would have the double impact of eliminating our food bills as well as providing a little extra cash.  But... would it work?  Would I need another job on top of that to be satisfied.

Ultimately, it seems that I'm still my harshest critic.  In my never-ending race to measure up and pull my own weight, I always seem to overwhelm myself with three times the amount of weight I need to haul.

So, tonight, despite the fact that I absolutely Must earn money this week, I'm taking today off.  My heart's not in it, and it's not quite worth it to go.  I'll enjoy a quiet coffee (a non-diet food, but oh how I crave the gentle bitterness of it) and I'll enjoy the companionship of my best friend in the whole world.  And I'll find internal balance again, because it's selfish, but I think sometimes it's worth it.