Recently two moms I know were diagnosed with adrenal fatigue. I've had this myself, and I know it's no picnic. Or maybe the kind of picnic you throw together on the fly in an effort to impress someone, where you run to Whole Foods for imported olives and chocolate truffles and then to Linens N Things for some marked-down cloth napkins, and maybe to World Market for one of those little folding tables... yeah, maybe that kind of picnic.
It's not just perfectionist moms who are stressed. For years I heard the same refrain from my brother: "I hate my job. I don't want to be around people. I want to go live in the mountains and be left alone."
Too bad. We're not a society set up for solitude or introspection. We bluster around making sure everyone knows how busy we are, yet we don't have the guts to be true to ourselves, to say no when we want to, to risk being judged when we miss the Open House, or ignore requests to volunteer.
Then, when we're not appreciated for these sacrifices by people who are too busy resenting their own sell-outs, something inside starts to boil. In this way, our guts (or glands) have us.
But without these mini breakdowns, would we remind ourselves to slow down? When my friend was diagnosed, she was surprised. Though she'd known something was wrong, she was surprised to be labeled with a 'syndrome.'
"Why not call it the busy mom disease?" she wondered.
Her prescription for herself includes sitting on the bench at the playground every day for 20 minutes before her daughter is dismissed. She says she's learned more from sitting on her butt on a park bench than she has in years.
Sitting. It should be elevated to an art. After all, an art form is defined as ANY activity regarded as a medium of imaginative or creative self-expression. Nevermind that it is also supposed to be conventionally established. We can all do our part to convince the world of its value. Start by demanding a grant for your sitting time. Or, if anyone dares to say that you're being lazy, gently correct them by saying you're an installation.
Franz Kafka puts it nicely:
"You don't need to leave your room. Remain sitting at your table and listen. Don't even listen, simply wait. Don't even wait. Be quite still and solitary. The world will freely offer itself to you to be unmasked; it has no choice. It will roll in ecstasy at your feet."
Now that sounds like a picnic.
Tammy Letherer is the author of one novel, "Hello Loved Ones," and a memoir, "Real Time Wreck: A Crash Course in Betrayal and Divorce," for which she is seeking agent representation. She is a writing coach who loves to help others find their voice, whether in a blog or in a book. Follow her on Facebook or visit TammyLetherer.com.