A little history first.
When I was quite young, pre-teen certainly, I noticed my back curved in. When I was 9, I was being yelled at by my ballet teacher for "sticking my bum out" when I felt like I was standing up perfectly straight. By the time I was about 12, I was regularly watching myself "lean backwards" side-on to a mirror in the bathroom and seeing that my bum and lower back would pretty much meet (I did have a bit of chub by then but still, it worried me) I would have "flash visions" of my back just snapping in half there. By 15, one of my party tricks was to show off that I could stand against a wall with bum and shoulders touching the wall, and by all outward appearances to be standing as straight as I ever do... and then comfortably get both arms completely behind my lower back.
By 17 I was occasionally complaining of back pain, but it was "nothing all that serious" to my already developing pain tolerance, and only bothered with painkillers when pressed by my mother as to what was wrong. It was sufficiently rarely that bad, I didn't get it really looked at then.
By this point I also had chronically knotted shoulders, which I thought nothing of, blamed on my ever increasing weekly hours of fencing training, and treated mostly with heat and an occasional massage.
In my late mid/late 20s during a job which involved upwards of 4 hours driving a day 6 days a week, my neck eventually siezed up so badly I couldn't turn my head - I took a week off on medical leave and the doctors I saw then said they thought it was referred pain from my hyperlordosis, but couldn't recommend doing anything about it other than rest, heat, massage and painkillers. More of the same. Eventually it eased, I went back to work.
Through this time, I've always felt better on long journeys or during long periods of sitting if I can have something rolled up behind my back, but could *manage* without. From 28ish onwards I can remember starting to bring a pillow for any journeys over an hour or so, even if I was driving. Some trips were made without, but they were the exceptions rather than the rule.
Last April, I woke up one morning with my lower back "on fire". I was away from home, and a friend was able to hook me up with some co-codamol, but it didn't really help much. When I got home I talked to my GP - I was told my back had spasmed, to take painkillers (including an initial course of diazepam for a week) and to gently excersise to ease it out. I took the drugs. They worked, but the relief lasted barely another week after I stopped taking the diazepam, and they'd spaced me out so badly I'd been able to do little else but stare at the walls for that time. Over the year that followed, it became gradually more painful to sit for any length of time, and I started to notice that I wasn't bending the lumbar section of my back, favouring a hip-hinging motion to pick things up and so on. 2 more trips to the GP through that year eventually got me referred to a physio in February. I had sessions 3 weeks apart with the physio, nominally to deal with general stability issues surrounding my HMS diagnosis rather than specifically for my back. The length of time between sessions, and the fact that by then I was really in too much pain with my back to keep up with the entirely unrelated excersises, I wasn't expecting what happened next.
On the morning of my fourth physio appointment, I woke up in excruciating pain. It took me half an hour to get dressed, another ten minutes to put my shoes on, and was almost in tears from the catch-22 of the bus trip: my legs didn't want to hold me up to stand, but my back exploded with more pain if I tried to sit. I was late, and when I explained to the physio the state I was in, and begged her to look at my back rather than my knees that day... she threw me out. Not after a bit of poking and such, but basically she told me I needed to see a doctor TODAY, and not to come back until my back was fixed. She had mused on our first meeting that with my lower back so completely locked up it was likely a disc issue, but hadn't pressed the point then to get it looked at. I kinda wish she had.
So began a series of trips to first, the hospital out-of-hours doctor (since my GP can only schedule emergency appointments placed before 9:30am for the same day) and that followed by the GP the next day, private consultant the next week to schedule an MRI a further week later... which confirmed the diagnosis of a herniated disc. A week after those results came back I went into hospital as a day case to get nerve block injections on the left side of the disc. And I hoped that was the end of it.
After a couple of days being happy I was able to sit up again, I was utterly beside myself with relief and joy when, a week later, I even managed to put away my walking stick for an evening out to sit through a special cinema showing of Labyrinth.
That was last week.
Today, I'm miserable again. On the way back from a short walk to the shops, I started to feel the pain in my thigh and hip begining to return - exactly the feeling that went away with the jab. It's not crippling yet, though the hard ball of ache and tightness in my spine never really went away (it's not what the injection was supposed to solve anyway) and is also getting worse again. 2 days out of the house in a week and you're going to tell me that's too much? That's not a fix. That's barely a bandaid. Even on my worst weeks with HMS I could manage that. To be crippled by something so small when I'm living with something so much bigger every day... I feel betrayed by my body and by my mind. I can feel a new kind of depression creeping in... one that has nothing to do with the weather, the season, or past tribulations. It has everything to do with that intense feeling of betrayal, and the boredom from being bedridden that's barely tempered by the deep worry that this may yet lead to surgery, which likely will also only be a temporary fix, followed by a lifetime of crippling back problems.
The worst part of it is, dispite having a photo, right there in black and white showing that disc totally flattened and bulging out onto my nerves, I still feel like a fraud, a wuss, a pain in the ass... like I'm somehow doing this for the attention. Because now more than ever I need to know I have people who care about me, and I am leaning SO HARD on my friends, I worry that even with a real thing they've actually heard of for a change, they will somehow still turn away, decide I don't need them, that I'm taking liberties, using them, something. It seems so ironic after my last post to say that, and perhaps with that one friend I've moved past this fear. I made the decision to be open about my problems this time. And it terrifies me every day that there will come a point where it becomes too much and everyone just.. walks... away. It's happened before.
Monday, 13 May 2013
Monday, 6 May 2013
The Importance Of Friendship
I have many friends, a loving family and the longest-term (though, also longest-distance) boyfriend I've ever had... but just one person who lives within hobbling distance who I can rely on. She shall be known here as L.
Living with social issues, depression, chronic pain and fatigue often keeps me away from those group activities that lend themselves to making friends, and it's very easy when all those little problems add up to one big reclusive whole to feel like you're not deserving of a friend who is really there when you finally crack and need somebody.
I have been truly and deeply humbled by everything L has done for me over the last couple of months, when my pain has been crippling, doctor visits became weekly events and the drugs I was on seemed to make my AS symptoms ten times worse. I was a mess. I turned up on her doorstep completely unannounced after my physio kicked me out and told me to go to the hospital.
As soon as I was over the threshold, I collapsed in tears... and I do NOT cry easily. (Perspective: grandparents' funerals/memorials and every wedding but my own sister's have seen me totally dry-eyed. And the latter was for reasons I won't go into here.)
L not only took this entirely in her stride, providing tea until I could pull myself together enough to call NHS Direct to confirm whether a hospital trip was needed. We had by then established that I would only be able to see my GP the following day, and would have to get up around 7am to actually get an emergency appointment. We called the number, and they booked me an out-of-hours appointment at the hospital after a brief chat. The hospital doctor seemed not to be able to do much other than give me painkillers (guess what, co-codamol does NOTHING for the nerve pain of a herniated disc) and recommend that I get myself seen for an MRI. So I stayed at L's that night and she got me up with a cuppa in the morning and we went to see the GP.
As it turned out, that was the visit that I found my replacement GP (the last one I established a connection with quit to be a hospital registrar doctor shortly after getting married/being on honeymoon for a month) and L was so impressed (having met at least half the GPs in the practice with me) she's going to ask to see him too when she moves registration from campus. But I digress. I was given a new cocktail of drugs, including Tramadol, and told that if I had private insurance (I do) then now was definitely the time to use it, as the NHS had a nearly 3 month waiting list for MRI scans.
The next 4 Mondays I was at the local BUPA-approved private hospital. First was just a consultation, I went on my own. Next was the MRI... L came with me. The following week was a follow-up with the consultant, I went alone but headed straight to L's afterwards, with the diagnosis and spinal steroid injections booked for the next Monday. She came with me for that - just as well, as it turned out I was in a well-outfitted but nevertheless Hospital Room for the entire afternoon. They eventually discharged me but said to be looked after overnight. You guessed it... at L's. And in the interest of making sure our friendship occasionally has some good shared memories rather than just being a hospital buddy, we've pencilled in a trip to a posh afternoon tea place for when I'm feeling better and back on my feet.
It's said that we all need someone we could call at 3am and be garunteed a friendly voice. I have plenty of those, when you've got 400 facebook contacts and parents who live halfway round the planet there's always *someone* up. But in this age of constant communication, it's easy to forget that NOTHING is more important than having someone who will be there, ready with a cup of tea and a hug, when you turn up on the doorstep in tears.
For the last year or so, I've been living alone for the first time ever. In the past it's been flatmates, or boyfriends in various states of cohabiting, who were there for me when the shit hit the fan. Now more than ever I really appreciate the value of somewhere I can go. So here's to L, who makes the best damn chocolate chip cookies in the world, and has been the anchor I've clung to as I take my first steps towards finding my life again.
Living with social issues, depression, chronic pain and fatigue often keeps me away from those group activities that lend themselves to making friends, and it's very easy when all those little problems add up to one big reclusive whole to feel like you're not deserving of a friend who is really there when you finally crack and need somebody.
I have been truly and deeply humbled by everything L has done for me over the last couple of months, when my pain has been crippling, doctor visits became weekly events and the drugs I was on seemed to make my AS symptoms ten times worse. I was a mess. I turned up on her doorstep completely unannounced after my physio kicked me out and told me to go to the hospital.
As soon as I was over the threshold, I collapsed in tears... and I do NOT cry easily. (Perspective: grandparents' funerals/memorials and every wedding but my own sister's have seen me totally dry-eyed. And the latter was for reasons I won't go into here.)
L not only took this entirely in her stride, providing tea until I could pull myself together enough to call NHS Direct to confirm whether a hospital trip was needed. We had by then established that I would only be able to see my GP the following day, and would have to get up around 7am to actually get an emergency appointment. We called the number, and they booked me an out-of-hours appointment at the hospital after a brief chat. The hospital doctor seemed not to be able to do much other than give me painkillers (guess what, co-codamol does NOTHING for the nerve pain of a herniated disc) and recommend that I get myself seen for an MRI. So I stayed at L's that night and she got me up with a cuppa in the morning and we went to see the GP.
As it turned out, that was the visit that I found my replacement GP (the last one I established a connection with quit to be a hospital registrar doctor shortly after getting married/being on honeymoon for a month) and L was so impressed (having met at least half the GPs in the practice with me) she's going to ask to see him too when she moves registration from campus. But I digress. I was given a new cocktail of drugs, including Tramadol, and told that if I had private insurance (I do) then now was definitely the time to use it, as the NHS had a nearly 3 month waiting list for MRI scans.
The next 4 Mondays I was at the local BUPA-approved private hospital. First was just a consultation, I went on my own. Next was the MRI... L came with me. The following week was a follow-up with the consultant, I went alone but headed straight to L's afterwards, with the diagnosis and spinal steroid injections booked for the next Monday. She came with me for that - just as well, as it turned out I was in a well-outfitted but nevertheless Hospital Room for the entire afternoon. They eventually discharged me but said to be looked after overnight. You guessed it... at L's. And in the interest of making sure our friendship occasionally has some good shared memories rather than just being a hospital buddy, we've pencilled in a trip to a posh afternoon tea place for when I'm feeling better and back on my feet.
It's said that we all need someone we could call at 3am and be garunteed a friendly voice. I have plenty of those, when you've got 400 facebook contacts and parents who live halfway round the planet there's always *someone* up. But in this age of constant communication, it's easy to forget that NOTHING is more important than having someone who will be there, ready with a cup of tea and a hug, when you turn up on the doorstep in tears.
For the last year or so, I've been living alone for the first time ever. In the past it's been flatmates, or boyfriends in various states of cohabiting, who were there for me when the shit hit the fan. Now more than ever I really appreciate the value of somewhere I can go. So here's to L, who makes the best damn chocolate chip cookies in the world, and has been the anchor I've clung to as I take my first steps towards finding my life again.
Thursday, 2 May 2013
Ressurecting the blog! Again!
Right then. This time I'm gonna stick at this blogging lark. It's been a couple of years since I was diagnosed with HMS and I'm finally starting to make headway with managing my condition. That's going to be easier to do with somewhere to keep my thoughts. It's awareness month for HMS and EDS, and I'm in the recovery stage from a slipped disc. So it seems a good time to start using this space as I had originally intended it. I won't promise regular updates, but I'll post when I can with as much information as possible. Time to do my bit to further understanding about this not-as-rare-as-you-think condition. Please do join me!
Sunday, 24 July 2011
Still here
It's been a while since I updated here. There's been a lot going on, while at the same time nothing is happening. I still haven't heard from my onward referrals for physio and OT. I have finally done the grown-up thing and found a dentist who is fixing the years of neglect I've inflicted on my teeth, which is a start.
I start to wonder though, by what scale can I judge good and bad days? Dispite it being summer, no chill in the air to flare up my pain or trigger dark thoughts, I find getting out to the charity shop to work regularly is more of a struggle than it was. Partly that's my sleeping pattern completely screwed by such short nights this far north I guess, but there's other things too. It all boils down to a generalised feeling of "meh"...
I start to wonder though, by what scale can I judge good and bad days? Dispite it being summer, no chill in the air to flare up my pain or trigger dark thoughts, I find getting out to the charity shop to work regularly is more of a struggle than it was. Partly that's my sleeping pattern completely screwed by such short nights this far north I guess, but there's other things too. It all boils down to a generalised feeling of "meh"...
Tuesday, 5 April 2011
The Spoon Theory
Today I FEEL broken. But I have a wonderful friend who I talk to online, who has been making me feel a little better able to cope. And so, I reminded myself why I started this blog: to keep myself mindful of the ways in which I can Bend and not Break.
I recently introduced said friend to the Spoon Theory, and he suggested I do a post about it here. This seems like an ideal time to do so.
The Spoon Theory can be found here.
It essentially is a way of describing to someone who is comparatively healthy most of the time what it is like to have a chronic condition. In the case of the original authour, it's Lupus, but for me it started as a way to explain the exhaustion I feel after large social events (from the dyspraxia), or why I couldn't deal with a lot of stress, or life at all really, at the worst of the depression. And now, it applies to the pain of HMS as well. The same friend suggested maybe it wasn't just spoons I needed, but knives and forks as well! That way I can have codes for days when I'm happy and neatly in my comfort zone for the day (plenty of knives and forks) but in pain (low on spoons)... or days when I'm not in much pain but something's got me down and I've got a million scary phonecalls to make (plenty of spoons, but no knives and forks)... it's a neat idea, but I probably won't catch on to it. It's enough to explain the spoon theory to every new person who asks about it without adding my own little quirks, though with certain friends who know me more closely, maybe I will.
While I'm on the subject, I want to say a bit about the community that has spring up around this wonderful Theory. I've been a regular particpant on the forums at butyoudontlooksick.com for several years, initially because of the depression I was then being treated for. It was thanks to reading around the site, talking to people and researching through links that I realised how HMS explained pretty much my entire life so far, and through reading others' stories and getting support and answers of my own got up the nerve to actually take that possibilty to my doctors. Without them, I would most likely still be suffering in silence, with no idea why I hurt and probably still getting occasionally written off sick with a scrip for cocodomol and a massage. Admittedly, a night like tonight I wouldn't turn down that scrip, but now I know what's going on, and I'm a step closer to being given back some of the bits of my life I've not been able to take back on my own. It's thanks to them, I am officially bendy, and not broken.
I recently introduced said friend to the Spoon Theory, and he suggested I do a post about it here. This seems like an ideal time to do so.
The Spoon Theory can be found here.
It essentially is a way of describing to someone who is comparatively healthy most of the time what it is like to have a chronic condition. In the case of the original authour, it's Lupus, but for me it started as a way to explain the exhaustion I feel after large social events (from the dyspraxia), or why I couldn't deal with a lot of stress, or life at all really, at the worst of the depression. And now, it applies to the pain of HMS as well. The same friend suggested maybe it wasn't just spoons I needed, but knives and forks as well! That way I can have codes for days when I'm happy and neatly in my comfort zone for the day (plenty of knives and forks) but in pain (low on spoons)... or days when I'm not in much pain but something's got me down and I've got a million scary phonecalls to make (plenty of spoons, but no knives and forks)... it's a neat idea, but I probably won't catch on to it. It's enough to explain the spoon theory to every new person who asks about it without adding my own little quirks, though with certain friends who know me more closely, maybe I will.
While I'm on the subject, I want to say a bit about the community that has spring up around this wonderful Theory. I've been a regular particpant on the forums at butyoudontlooksick.com for several years, initially because of the depression I was then being treated for. It was thanks to reading around the site, talking to people and researching through links that I realised how HMS explained pretty much my entire life so far, and through reading others' stories and getting support and answers of my own got up the nerve to actually take that possibilty to my doctors. Without them, I would most likely still be suffering in silence, with no idea why I hurt and probably still getting occasionally written off sick with a scrip for cocodomol and a massage. Admittedly, a night like tonight I wouldn't turn down that scrip, but now I know what's going on, and I'm a step closer to being given back some of the bits of my life I've not been able to take back on my own. It's thanks to them, I am officially bendy, and not broken.
Saturday, 2 April 2011
Disabilities, Difficulties and Differences
Hoooo-kay.
Ever heard someone trying to be politically correct refer to someone using walking aides as "Differently Abled"? Or a school refer to the kid who needs a helper sitting next to him as having "Learning Differences"?
I'm going to start here with a few dictionary definitions:
Difference:
an instance or point of unlikeness or dissimilarity
a change in, or effect on a situation
a distinguishing characteristic; distinctive quality, feature, etc.
the degree to which one person or thing differs from another.
Difficulty:
task, problem, etc, that is hard to deal with
a troublesome or embarrassing situation
an objection or obstacle
a trouble, or source of trouble; worry
lack of ease; awkwardness
Disability:
lack of adequate power, strength, or physical ability; incapacity.
a physical or mental handicap, especially one that prevents a person from living a full, normal life or from holding a gainful job.
anything that puts one at a disadvantage
So by these definitions, my dyspraxia causes Differences in the way I learn new things best, and Difficulties in dealing with new social situations, certain types of interactions (interviews, phone calls etc) and probably doesn't cause any outright Disabilites. With HMS, I have Differences in certain ways I'm able to move (I'm pretty flexible, not surprisingly) and see (I get double vision almost all the time), Difficulties in other areas of mobility (I can't walk for long periods of time, especially on bad days, stairs hurt my knees and hips... etc)
I wouldn't classify myself as Disabled, in general. I get up most days and go to a (volunteer) job, I go out some nights, I have physically active hobbies (which are almost all actually pretty social in nature too) and generally on the surface don't appear to be outright unable to do things. That doesn't mean they aren't hard. Half the time, the effort that goes into standing up straight and smiling at every customer in an afternoon at the shop means I go home, cuddle up in bed with the laptop and am done for the day. On a really bad day, I might feel Disabled. Everything hurts, I have the attention span of a gnat and the emotional maturity of a cocker spaniel. That doesn't make me Disabled all the time though. Yes, I'm affected by my Differences and Difficulties all the time, but the extent to which each of them is causing problems varies.
But where do you draw the line? I know someone who uses a wheelchair most of the time, who can get up and walk for a short distance occasionally, but certainly couldn't every day, or for long enough to keep up with the "normal" world. And I know plenty of people (I'm one) who sometimes use a walking stick, trekking pole or crutch to help get around, especially at the end of a long day. For me, I can go without, but the amount of pain relief I get from taking a little of the pressure off my knee means with it I can stay out longer, enjoy myself more and keep up better with those of my friends without these... now which D word do I want here?
Ever heard someone trying to be politically correct refer to someone using walking aides as "Differently Abled"? Or a school refer to the kid who needs a helper sitting next to him as having "Learning Differences"?
I'm going to start here with a few dictionary definitions:
Difference:
an instance or point of unlikeness or dissimilarity
a change in, or effect on a situation
a distinguishing characteristic; distinctive quality, feature, etc.
the degree to which one person or thing differs from another.
Difficulty:
task, problem, etc, that is hard to deal with
a troublesome or embarrassing situation
an objection or obstacle
a trouble, or source of trouble; worry
lack of ease; awkwardness
Disability:
lack of adequate power, strength, or physical ability; incapacity.
a physical or mental handicap, especially one that prevents a person from living a full, normal life or from holding a gainful job.
anything that puts one at a disadvantage
So by these definitions, my dyspraxia causes Differences in the way I learn new things best, and Difficulties in dealing with new social situations, certain types of interactions (interviews, phone calls etc) and probably doesn't cause any outright Disabilites. With HMS, I have Differences in certain ways I'm able to move (I'm pretty flexible, not surprisingly) and see (I get double vision almost all the time), Difficulties in other areas of mobility (I can't walk for long periods of time, especially on bad days, stairs hurt my knees and hips... etc)
I wouldn't classify myself as Disabled, in general. I get up most days and go to a (volunteer) job, I go out some nights, I have physically active hobbies (which are almost all actually pretty social in nature too) and generally on the surface don't appear to be outright unable to do things. That doesn't mean they aren't hard. Half the time, the effort that goes into standing up straight and smiling at every customer in an afternoon at the shop means I go home, cuddle up in bed with the laptop and am done for the day. On a really bad day, I might feel Disabled. Everything hurts, I have the attention span of a gnat and the emotional maturity of a cocker spaniel. That doesn't make me Disabled all the time though. Yes, I'm affected by my Differences and Difficulties all the time, but the extent to which each of them is causing problems varies.
But where do you draw the line? I know someone who uses a wheelchair most of the time, who can get up and walk for a short distance occasionally, but certainly couldn't every day, or for long enough to keep up with the "normal" world. And I know plenty of people (I'm one) who sometimes use a walking stick, trekking pole or crutch to help get around, especially at the end of a long day. For me, I can go without, but the amount of pain relief I get from taking a little of the pressure off my knee means with it I can stay out longer, enjoy myself more and keep up better with those of my friends without these... now which D word do I want here?
Volunteering
I've never been officially diagnosed with SAD, but Mum likes to joke about how as a kid, I tended to crawl under a pile of duvets somewhere around November and ask for a wakeup call somewhere around March. These days that's less possible, but January and February tend to make a damn good effort at killing me every year, not to mention seeing me put on about a stone in weight.
This year was different.
It shouldn't have helped that I was 400 miles further North than I've ever lived, since I moved up to Scotland over the summer last year. The cold, the snow... ok snow is great when you're six, and also when you're on a skiing holiday. Snow in the city when you're trying to actually get anywhere SUCKS.
But I didn't breakdown. I'm still standing, and better than I ever have been this time of year.
Now, I have the luxury of Money From Parents, which I'm aware that most people don't. But this means that while I have legitimate pressure to be doing something they see as productive with my time, it's not the end of the world if I'm not paid to do so. Enter Oxfam. I started working weekdays at a charity shop in town in November and I'm still there. I even had a brief stint as Volunteer Assistant Manager, but that led to being so stressed and tired I'd cut down to 3 afternoons a week and still wound up yelling at someone I shouldn't have. So I'm back to regular volunteering, which suits a lot better anyway.
Some great things about volunteering:
FLEXIBILITY. This may be in part having a boss who rocks, but he's very understanding about the limitations of the volunteers. A lot of us have depressive issues, there's one or two people with Aspergers, a handful of students and so on. Calling in "tired"? Not a problem. Need to leave early? Health is more important than having 5 people in the shop. Changing working hours to fit how much you can cope with? He'll be the one suggesting it, because he's aware of what just about everyone's able to do.
GETS YOU OUT OF THE HOUSE (when you can). One of the big problems I have, especially in winter, is that nothing seems quite so enticing as a hot water bottle, the laptop in bed and maybe another cup of tea if I'm getting up anyway. I'll still go places I'm expected though, like weekly roleplaying games... or a job. As long as you treat your volunteer job as a real one, it works. Plus, if you really can't face the snow today, phone it in, job done. (see above)
MEET NEW PEOPLE. Having people around from all different walks of life, different outlooks and different reasons for being there is amazing when you're stuck in a rut thinking your own life sucks (like you're the only one who can see that blizzard out there...?) In a safe, working environment you HAVE to think about other people, and I can't talk for other shops, but ours has some really cool people in it, and I found myself wanting to get to know them better. Less time dwelling and wallowing = less SAD. There's a lot more to it than that, but it helps.
It's not just about getting through the winter though. Aside from getting all the benefits of working bar being paid, (including building up CV-boosting skills) you're genuinely helping other people beyond the face value of the physical work you're doing. Choose a charity you can really connect with if they have a shop you can get to easily. I'll admit, Oxfam doesn't quite fit that "personal level" profile for me, but on the other hand I know a lot more now about who they are and the work they do, and I'm proud to be helping.
This year was different.
It shouldn't have helped that I was 400 miles further North than I've ever lived, since I moved up to Scotland over the summer last year. The cold, the snow... ok snow is great when you're six, and also when you're on a skiing holiday. Snow in the city when you're trying to actually get anywhere SUCKS.
But I didn't breakdown. I'm still standing, and better than I ever have been this time of year.
Now, I have the luxury of Money From Parents, which I'm aware that most people don't. But this means that while I have legitimate pressure to be doing something they see as productive with my time, it's not the end of the world if I'm not paid to do so. Enter Oxfam. I started working weekdays at a charity shop in town in November and I'm still there. I even had a brief stint as Volunteer Assistant Manager, but that led to being so stressed and tired I'd cut down to 3 afternoons a week and still wound up yelling at someone I shouldn't have. So I'm back to regular volunteering, which suits a lot better anyway.
Some great things about volunteering:
FLEXIBILITY. This may be in part having a boss who rocks, but he's very understanding about the limitations of the volunteers. A lot of us have depressive issues, there's one or two people with Aspergers, a handful of students and so on. Calling in "tired"? Not a problem. Need to leave early? Health is more important than having 5 people in the shop. Changing working hours to fit how much you can cope with? He'll be the one suggesting it, because he's aware of what just about everyone's able to do.
GETS YOU OUT OF THE HOUSE (when you can). One of the big problems I have, especially in winter, is that nothing seems quite so enticing as a hot water bottle, the laptop in bed and maybe another cup of tea if I'm getting up anyway. I'll still go places I'm expected though, like weekly roleplaying games... or a job. As long as you treat your volunteer job as a real one, it works. Plus, if you really can't face the snow today, phone it in, job done. (see above)
MEET NEW PEOPLE. Having people around from all different walks of life, different outlooks and different reasons for being there is amazing when you're stuck in a rut thinking your own life sucks (like you're the only one who can see that blizzard out there...?) In a safe, working environment you HAVE to think about other people, and I can't talk for other shops, but ours has some really cool people in it, and I found myself wanting to get to know them better. Less time dwelling and wallowing = less SAD. There's a lot more to it than that, but it helps.
It's not just about getting through the winter though. Aside from getting all the benefits of working bar being paid, (including building up CV-boosting skills) you're genuinely helping other people beyond the face value of the physical work you're doing. Choose a charity you can really connect with if they have a shop you can get to easily. I'll admit, Oxfam doesn't quite fit that "personal level" profile for me, but on the other hand I know a lot more now about who they are and the work they do, and I'm proud to be helping.
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