Last week, we lost power for almost three full days after a wicked storm — and I did not handle it well.
For those of you who aren’t local to me, allow me to set the stage:
When the power went out, we were in the middle of a heat wave. I had just driven home from two days in Virginia — where it was 105 degrees — and I didn’t get a chance to shower before leaving, so I was already sticky, sweaty, and smelly. Without electricity for air conditioning, the temperature in the house was reading 92° during the day. A balmy 87° at night.
Needless to say, I was hot AF and even saltier than usual. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t breathe. I tried to exercise in the morning in my basement gym (exercise is my therapy), but without a working fan, I could barely get through thirty minutes. Because my thyroid disease makes it difficult for me to regulate my body temperature, it felt like I was burning from the inside out.
To make matters worse, we didn’t have running water. (Wells need electricity to function.) No water meant no showering; no washing hands; no brushing teeth; no flushing toilets … You get the picture. By day two, the bathrooms were starting to smell like the NYC Port Authority. #iykyk. Remember, it was over 90 degrees!
While everyone was annoyed, I was really struggling — and I wasn’t nice about it.
To top it all off, I was unable to work or even reach my clients because of a faulty cell phone that lost charge within minutes, rendering it useless. The stress I felt was as suffocating as the heat. In addition to losing money by the hour (#lifeofafreelancewriter), I catastrophized the situation, envisioning my business reputation being ruined due to the many missed deadlines and lack of communication. It wasn’t good. I wasn’t good.
To say I lost my shit on an hourly basis would be an understatement. I behaved worse than an overtired, hungry toddler. I was just plain mean. To everyone.
I’m not proud of my behavior or my over-the-top reaction to this minor (in the grand scheme of things, given the state of the world) inconvenience, but I do own it.
On day three, when the power was finally restored and I was able to shower and email my clients, my meanness and anxiety returned to their normal, everyday levels and I could see the situation for what it was: A trigger for feeling powerless and out of control that still sends me spiraling, despite all my therapy, meditation, and deep breathing.
It’s not an excuse, I know. Just an explanation.
Living through a power outage sucks. Living through a power outage when you have PTSD and an autoimmune disease sucks more. And while it’s no excuse for how poorly I handled it, I hope my family accepts this public apology for my attitude and gives me the grace I’m still trying to give myself.
— LJDT
