Hey, Lord, You Know I’m Tired

Today is Monday. The beginning of the workweek, the first day back into the grind, the day you return from your rest to rejoin the never-ending capitalist nightmare that is work, rinse, and repeat.

I’m very lucky in that I have a job that I don’t hate. In fact, I actually kind of love it. I get to work with people who are kind, caring, and damn good at their jobs. People who know me know that I work in the God Business, which is my silly way of saying I work for the Episcopal Church. This past weekend I got to spend my time volunteering at a youth event, which just so happened to be The Princess Bride themed, listening to talks about faith and resilience, making chocolate-marshmallow miracle pills, and sword fighting with inflatable rapiers while inaccurately stating my name was Inigo Montoya.

Before going to this awesome event, I had to sit down and genuinely ask myself, “Can I do this?”

Not just, “Can I conceivably complete this task” or “Is this within my normal limitations of things I can accomplish”, but honestly listen to myself, my emotions, and my body, to decide if volunteering for the entire weekend was the right way to spend my time and energy.

My ‘weekends’ don’t actually take place over the entire weekend. Being in the God Business, my first day of work is usually a Sunday, with Friday and Saturday as my ‘free days’. So volunteering for this event would mean not only giving up one of my rest days, but also being excused from my usual Sunday hours and catching up on any work missed during the following week.

Fatigue is a strange thing. It’s not just ‘feeling tired’ though that is a big part of it. The best way I can describe it is like you’re living your life with 50lb weights on each limb, and everyone is is speaking a mixture of English and gibberish, so you kind of understand what they mean, it just takes some extra brain power to figure it out.

While I love my job, and love working with kids of all ages in the church, doing so can be fatiguing. You can’t just power through fatigue either; if you don’t choose a time to rest, your body will force a time.

While I did, obviously, decide that volunteering at the youth event was something I could manage, I worked with staff members to create accommodations for myself. This required me to swallow my pride, and do what every type-A, overachieving, perfectionist eldest daughter struggles to do: ask for help.

I had a meeting with Kate, the Head Adult in Charge of This and All Church Youth Events. (That is clearly not her real job title, but you get the idea.) We talked through the schedule and found places where I could rest, changed some of my responsibilities to fit with my usual mobility, and decided that I would sleep at home, instead of at the event location with the rest of the youth and volunteer staff members. After the meeting, I was filled with mixed emotions. On the one hand, I was proud of myself for asking for help and voicing my limitations out loud. On the other, I was embarrassed and frustrated by my seeming inability to do what I wanted.

The world is not made for folks with disabilities. Not just in the ADA required accommodations kind of way, but in the way society operates. All standards are based on details that can be reasonably expected of a usually white, usually male, able-bodied person. From the width of doorways, the height of bedframes, and to the expected usable hours in a day and week, the world does not turn the same for folks with disabilities.

The standard that is set is not one that I am able to meet. When I have to stand up and voice my needs, it can feel like I’m failing or asking for too much, when in reality, I’m just asking for equal opportunities to participate. It’s hard to remind myself of this, so hopefully writing it down for the internet to read is a good first step.

As inconceivable as it may seem, I was able to participate in this event and enjoy myself without sacrificing my health or energy to do so. The event was planned by a brilliant team of dedicated youth with help from Kate the Great (again, not her official title but I kind of think it should be), and executed to blessedly imperfect perfection by the same youth leaders and volunteer adults. I did what I could this weekend and left what I could not to someone who could.

And you know what? It all worked out in the end. So while I may be tired from this weekend, I am not fatigued (more than the usual amount) and able to participate in the rest of my daily life events.

I wouldn’t change it for anything, and I mean it.

Blogpost Title: I’m Tired by Labrinth