A tale worth telling?

Gather round, O best beloveds, and hear a tale worth telling.

It’s the tale of a merry maid, moping mum, whose soul was sad and whose glance was glum, who sipped no sup but craved much crumb as she sighed for the lack of… something.*

A tale of too much to do, too tired to do it, and too numb to care.

A cautionary tale, and yet, a tale of redemption too.

Once upon a time, there was a woman. Let’s call her – well – Fi. Fi was smart. She was talented. She had gumption and guts galore. (And loved alliteration.) She was also occasionally bossy (no, not really, honest).

She would get down to work on something, and Get Stuff Done with a focus and determination that was impressive. People used to say, “Whoa. I don’t know how you do that. You impress and inspire me when you focus like that.”

Let’s say that when she was good, she was very, very good.

But when she was bad…

When she was bad, well, that’s when it all went horribly wrong.

To be fair, it’s not that she was bad so much, but that sometimes she just wasn’t so very well. Sometimes she was oh-so-tired, and had migraines and headaches, and felt like she existed behind a glass wall, observing the world but never actually participating in it.

Sometimes, she looked around at the mass of things she knew she should to do and felt physically crushed by them. Sometimes, she got so exhausted that even the smallest exertion, like a short walk, or and hour’s tidying, left her drained and aching and needing a nap. And sometimes, when she wasn’t so well, she felt like there was no point to even trying any more because it was All Too Much.

And when it got All Too Much, that’s when the goblins would show up. Not the sort-of-friendly, okay-I’m-really-here-to-help-you goblin called Mike, but the nasty ones. The ones with sharp claws and pointed teeth and strong, grasping fingers that pinched and poked and made her back and shoulders and stomach ache.

These goblins were called things like You’re-A-Failure and Dirty-Slummock-You-Live-In-A-Tip and Lazy-Cat-You-Shouldn’t-Sleep-So-Much-There’s-Nothing-Wrong-With-You and Why-Don’t-You-Just-Get-Off-Your-Arse-Already-Have-You-Seen-The-Size-Of-Your-Visa-Bill? .

The nasty goblins would surround her and pinch and poke and sneer and jeer until she ached all over and longed to do nothing more than sleep until they went away and she could see the way to the land of Feel Better.

But she didn’t – she couldn’t – just sleep because she knew that the Way to Feel Better was by doing. She knew you have to fight the goblins off, and you do that by Doing, not by lying around sleeping like a lazy cat or ignoring the mess like a dirty slummock or acknowledging the fatigue like someone with something actually wrong with them.

So she tried to fight the goblins. She tried to Do Things, and Get Stuff Done, and pretend that she was very, very good, when in fact, she was feeling horrid.

It didn’t work.

The goblins were strong, and crafty, and clever and they knew all the tricks to confuse her so she still couldn’t find the Way to Feel Better.

They said things like, “Yeah, so what? You did one little thing. Big deal. Look at the mess still there!”

And “It’s not enough. It’s never enough. You have to do more, faster, better. You’re losing ground, sliding backward, all the time.”

And worst of all, “What’s the point anyway? Things will never be any different.”

And she believed them. Because the fighting was was hard and painful and she wasn’t getting anywhere, not really, and the goblins were laughing at her efforts.

But then, one day, when she was oh-so-tired and wondering if she was ever going to survive the battle, someone – someone very clever – said something. And what they said was this:

“You don’t have to fight the goblins, you know. If you’re tired, you can rest. If you need to sleep, then sleep. And if you can’t face the fight right now, walk away from it.”

Well! That was a new idea.

Not Doing? Was that even allowed? Wouldn’t that be giving up, or giving in, or just plain not trying? (On the other hand, she thought, it would certainly be less trying than the goblins.)

She was pretty sure that it was a con, and that the goblins would just be stronger than ever if she stopped fighting them. But by then she was even-more-than-oh-so-tired and feeling truly horrid.

So she stopped Doing.

She lay down in the middle of the goblins, with their sharp teeth and their poking fingers all around her and she let herself sleep. A lot. And for long periods.

When she woke up, she didn’t try to fight the goblins with Doing. Instead she read silly novels about sparkly vampires and buff werewolves and teenage angst and true love and refused to listen the goblins. And then, when she wanted a nap, she slept some more.

For over a week, she slept when she wanted to, and read embarrassing books, and did only what was necessary for survival. She even stayed offline for entire days at a time, risking the threat of the sky falling when she didn’t reply to email the very same day it was sent. She refused to listen to the goblins who said she was sleeping too much and would regret it.

Then one day, when she woke up, she looked around, and the goblins were gone.

And there, in front of her, was the Way to Feel Better. You still had to get there by Doing, but you didn’t have to fight goblins at the same time.

She wasn’t complacent. She knew the goblins would show up again some time, and that sometimes the Doing would be hard and she’d get tired and discouraged again. But she also knew now that she was allowed to stop fighting them, to rest, to read novels and watch movies if that’s what she needed.

So she packed up her potential and all she had learned, grabbed a cute pair of shoes, and took the first step on the Way to Feel Better.

*Bonus points and a free postcard to the first person commenting who gets the reference.