This is how the story goes. A farmer is fed up with his house. His wife whines, his kids yell, the dog barks and the cat meows. He goes to the rabbi and he asks him how he can get some peace and space to think and the rabbi says, "bring your cow inside."
So he brings the cow inside the house and now the cow lows, the wife whines, his kids yell, the dog barks and the cat meows. He goes back to the rabbi and he explains that he can't even breathe because he's so stressed in his house. The rabbi thinks and finally answers, "bring your horse inside."
So he brings in the horse and now the horse neighs, the cow lows, the wife whines, his kids yell, the dog barks and the cat meows. He makes many visits back to the rabbi, each time begging for a solution and each time being told to bring another animal in the house.
On his final visit to the rabbi, as he is on the brink of emotionally drowning, the rabbi tells him to go home and take all the animals back outside. He does and suddenly, the house is ten times more peaceful. He can still hear the voices of his wife and children as well as the dog and cat, but he sits down in his chair and finally gets back to his work, feeling a tremendous sense of stillness.
Nothing has been removed from our house. Everything is exactly the same way it was the day before--the same work needs to get done, the same children need to be raised, the same house needs to be cleaned, the same husband needs to be...entertained. And yet, once 8:30 a.m. passed and we entered a space where what was done was done, I felt an enormous stillness. I was in the car, driving the ChickieNob and Wolvog to an appointment I was scheduled to miss if I had gone ahead with my day 3 blood work and I noticed the clock said 8:50 a.m. My feet were supposed to be in the stirrups. Instead, they were on the gas pedal of my car.
I think the most telling moment was that I baked today. I had been wanting to bake for weeks, make cookies for Josh's workplace to celebrate his new position. I didn't have any more time today than I do on any other day. The difference was that my thoughts weren't racing and without my thoughts racing, there was a stillness within the house. I could easily see how to balance the day. It is the difference between trying to think within a house of noisy animals and trying to think in the stillness that comes after you've let them out of the house.
Thank you for responding to that last post. It was so incredibly helpful for me to write it down and see the situation in print and analyze it to pieces. Hitting publish felt like I was giving it away; letting go of those feelings. It was therapeutic to write it. It was therapeutic to receive support in turn. It was incredibly helpful for me to read how others approached a break or what they took away from it. I wrote it for myself and then considered setting it aside and publishing a simple entry: "We're stepping away from treatments for a few months. The reasons are too numerous to list. Thanks for all the fish." (There, Leah, is your reference to Hitchhikers). But that feel like a dick move. I don't owe you an explanation, per se, but you share your raw honesty with me therefore...I don't know...it all goes back to the quote that lines the top of the Lost and Found. In the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.
If anyone else got anything out of it, it was worth hitting publish. If you didn't get anything out of it, then I apologize for having you sit through such a navel-gazingly long post.
There are more thoughts brewing in my head about this so I'm apologizing in advance (and feel free to skip) the enormously self-exploratory posts of my own psyche. I'm acting as if I'm the first person on earth to ever take a break. It's novel for me; the only breaks I took the first time were canceled cycles. Perhaps that's why I'm so high-strung.