I can breathe today. Which is a massive improvement over yesterday, FYI. I know writing about being sick on your blog is akin to writing about the amazing turkey sandwich you had for lunch, but I cannot seem to get around it. I’m sneezing every 48 seconds, and every time that happens I forget what I was doing. It’s a real problem when it happens in the bathroom, just so you know.
This also marks the THIRD time I’ve picked up some kind of virus in 2010 alone. For someone who has never had a legitimate sick day in her life, that’s wrong. I don’t get sick. But apparently being home and out of a disgusting office with ancient air circulating is good for everyone but me. I’m lucky that way.
Yesterday, before I felt really bad, I went to yoga. I thought maybe 90 minutes of hot, humid air would clear my head so that I could think again, so that I could do things that normal people do. At the beginning of class, the instructor generally shares something that is meant to help us with our intention during class. Yesterday, he suggested we appreciate our mental strength more than our physical strength, knowing that without that mental strength the physical would mean very little.
It makes sense, of course. Mental health is irreplaceable, and it’s the reason I could be there at all. Even with my head stuffed, feeling like it weighed 90 pounds, I could appreciate that. And sitting here now, I’m reminded that that mental health was the reason I made the choice I did to leave that dirty, germ-filled office. It wasn’t the germs that chased me out, of course, and obviously they’re still finding me, but it’s a good reminder that no matter what I face now, it is independent of the environment that was so bad for me.
Not a day goes by that I don’t think I left my old job at exactly the right time, at the very last moment that I could have. I knew my mental health was suffering and sticking it out was no longer an option. Not once have I looked back and thought I should have (or could have) stuck it out longer. This I know for sure.
If I had a few dollars for every time someone has told me how much better, happier, or healthier I look or act since I quit my job, I’d never have to work again. And they’re right, I am better. I am happier. And, mostly, I am healthier.
{ 5 comments }







