Pressure. So much pressure. …but where does it come from? Me or “them?”
This has been one of those weeks where I have felt I was under extreme pressure all week. The week started off with me getting up early on Monday for a conference call that wasn’t scheduled till Tuesday. I needed to get up early anyway to have the four hours I needed to get ready before I went to work for meetings, so it was somewhat of a relief to have gotten the date wrong, but that meant also getting up early the next day…which I did. “Issues” started flowing in from work Tuesday afternoon, and I haven’t had a break since…
My job can be very intensive. I coordinate investigations, consult on workplace conflicts, and give advice on addressing problems. Often, participants are very emotional, and the consultations are intense. I have to be “on my game,” able to listen for variations of the truth, able to see through smoke screens to the facts, able to determine what laws apply and what solutions might work in a situation based on personalities and behaviors that I rely on others to describe. Therefore, I need to concentrate on what is being said, how it’s being said, and what is not said to make sure I manage a situation effectively.
Now imagine this…I’m on speakerphone attending a conference call about some highly emotional issue. I multitask at my desk, looking up information, referencing reports, taking notes, and planning strategies with the people on the line. Over the baby monitor on my desk, I hear, “Donna, I need to be cathed.” So I take the speakerphone, mute the line, glove up, and take care of business, never missing a beat. Then he mouths, “I need nose spray,” so I apply the spray, then as I put down the spray, “can you make me some tea?” I continued to carry on my conversation and made the tea. When I deliver it, his foot has come loose from the stirrups in the peddler so I fix that, his socks need to be pulled up and his shin needs scratching. I finish all this, still on the phone, and return to my desk. Fifteen minutes later, “Sweetie, can you come here?” and it starts again.
Some days, I do okay with this pace; others, I don’t. When the issues are intense, or the stakes are high, I feel an intense internal conflict about who gets my attention at that moment. So far, I’ve managed to juggle it all– I can multitask like you wouldn’t believe, but the pressure is getting to me. Several times this week, I’ve just felt like I could not keep going like this. I would love to quit the dual role. I would love to return to work and have someone else caregiver for a while, but I can’t afford to do that. The cost would just be too much so I keep going. I admit there are times I almost wish I would get injured or sick so I would have an excuse to stop for a while. If that would happen, then insurance would pay for a temporary caregiver at least, and the decision to stop being a caregiver, even temporarily, wouldn’t be mine to make.
I am very fearful that, eventually, I won’t be able to keep up the pace. What will happen then? We have little savings, but that would not last long if full-time care was needed. If we lost most of our resources, we would be eligible for assistance, but I don’t want to lose nearly everything to get some help. If I quit my job and worked part-time, we could not pay our bills. Lynn could go into a care facility, but I couldn’t (not that I ever want him to have to do that). if that happens, what happens to me, the caregiver, who has burned out, lost their income, lost their home, lost their savings?
I’m getting morbid and over-dramatic, but it’s these types of thoughts that cause the pressure. I don’t want my worst fears to happen. I don’t want to lose our home or put Lynn in a care facility, nor do I want to lose my job (believe it or not, I like what I do). So I feel pressured…pressured to do my best at work so I don’t let down my colleagues; pressure to do my best for Lynn because I love him and am committed to him; pressure to try to be a supportive mother and friend; pressure to make it all work. Where does this pressure come from? From me. From my own expectations. From my own demands to do it all perfectly.
So maybe what I need to do is to find a pin…I think it’s time to create a small leak. Just a little leak to reduce some of the pressure, not so much as to make me explode or deflate entirely… just enough to stay afloat like a balloon that has lost its elasticity and becomes almost puncture-proof. That’s my goal. To become a low-pressure, rubbery balloon. Sounds good, doesn’t it? Or better yet, I need to turn it over to God and let him handle it because it’s just too much for me right now. So…God, this is Donna. Here… it’s yours. Thanks, and Amen.
