The ‘romance of maintenance’ comes to mind to describe the last week. The phrase was introduced to me on my permaculture design course, and used to describe what we don’t have in our society: a love of keeping things going once the initial excitement fades. I can’t remember who coined the phrase and a cursory Google reveals only that one episode of a TV series about architecture was titled as such. But the phrase really stuck in my mind. We need to develop a romance of maintenance in order to keep our gardens healthy and productive, and the same is true of our lives.
I am a person who has struggled very much with depression and anxiety in the past, and the present. Over winter, when old blues reared their heads again, I determined to focus on what helped me regain wholeness last time around. Yoga, meditation, eating healthily, exercise. Last time around I also took an extended trip through the world of pills and therapy, with variable results. I came out the other side and won’t deny that part of my journey, but this time I chose to try and regain my balance using the tools that I felt had helped me most to maintain it for a year.
The very fact that I had to start again at yoga, meditation, exercise and good food indicates why I was in the slump once more. I had stopped doing them. Over the spring and summer of 2016 I was a practising yogi, a smug blender of nut-based snacks, a gardener. I had already without noticing dropped meditation, which had been so helpful to me the year before when I recovered from major depression. Still, I was always active, working in a plant nursery, wwoofing in a vegetable garden. Things were good. I started going out to Calais and volunteering in the Help Refugees warehouse. I was full of fervour and energy and future.
In August I moved to Calais full-time and threw myself into work. There is so much to say about this time – precious and brilliant and joyful and terrible and sad. For the purposes of this post, I will focus on what I wasn’t doing while I was busy falling in love and working six days a week managing a team of people packing thousands of food parcels a week.
I wasn’t doing yoga, that’s for sure. I most definitely was not meditating. I wasn’t taking breaks in a day that started at 8 and finished at 7. I was living in a caravan on the warehouse site and for days at a time I wasn’t leaving the compound as I semi-affectionately called it. I was eating delicious food, to give credit to Johann who cooked some magic from tins every night on a little camping stove. But I was also shovelling sweets and chocolate down all day, as a substitute for rest, a short term energy boost that needed pepping up every other hour. Things I hadn’t eaten in months and had come to regard as toxic were being merrily consumed for the tiny bubble of well-being the brain received on first taste.
I was taking on more and more and not only taking on but taking in, taking the responsibility of the need in to my heart and feeling it crack under the weight. When I made mistakes I lacked the ability to stand back from them. The presence that meditation and yoga had brought me had slipped away, without maintenance, and my mistakes became burdens. Old thought patterns snaked up like roots that had just lain dormant. Lack of confidence, lack of belief, blaming myself for not being good enough, strong enough, tough enough.
I was working myself into a hole, in a routine that couldn’t be sustained. People around me told me to take breaks, buoyed me up when I felt down, but I’d gone too far and couldn’t claw myself back in that environment. In the aftermath of the eviction and destruction of the camp, I left.
I’m sharing this with anyone who’ll listen, with some trepidation, because it hurts to admit how I crumbled, when many of the people I worked with stayed strong, stayed there, stayed helping. But what I have learned in retrospect is the utmost importance of maintaining the things that keep you well, even when you feel well. Especially when you feel well! Because those times when I felt on top of the world: when I met and bonded and worked with the most incredible people, every day, when every part of my being was looking forward, looking outward, looking to save the world one Aldi bag at a time: that was when I neglected to look after myself.
It’s not that my self is more important than the other people I was trying to help; it’s that I worked myself into a state in which I could no longer help others. I took my eye off the ball. What I should have learned from this is to find what works and stick to it through thick and thin. Treat it not as a cure but as a preventative measure. Make what keeps me sane an immovable part of my daily life.
But guess what? It’s still so darn tempting when I’m having a good day to say, I’ll just do the yoga tomorrow. I’ll let myself fall asleep without using the Headspace app for meditation first. After all, I’m good. I’m fine!
Some days later, after my routine slips, my composure slips too. This week I’ve had a wonderful time, walking and exploring and swimming and drawing and meeting people. But there have also been some deep dark moods, as if out of the blue, and it’s only when I wail ‘what’s wrong with me!? I’m doing everything right!’ and look back that I twig. Yes, for the first two weeks of moving here I did yoga and meditation every single day. Then I guess I skipped some days of one or the other. The past week, I did yoga twice and meditation twice. I completely forget to stop several times a day in my thoughts and find presence. And just like that, my protective routine is no longer study enough to keep out the black holes.
So this week, my focus is to appreciate how good my life situation is right now, without losing sight of the healing routine that keeps me calm. I think the difficulty is in accepting at the peak of your happiness that you have within you the capacity for such darkness. It’s more comfortable to pretend that things are good and will always be that way. Much harder to accept that things are good, but they haven’t been in the past, and they might not be in the future without facing your truth and accepting the work you need to do to be ok.
So I need the lesson more than once, that’s okay. I have hope that eventually I’ll learn once and for all that to keep myself well, some things are non-negotiable. I need to find in myself the romance of maintenance, the every-single-day dedication to the yoga and mindfulness that I believe can bring me balance.