The Power of Routine
...and when to break it
I am the unofficial queen of all things to-do lists, schedules, and routines. They just bring me a lot of joy, but also bring some sort of order to an often chaotic life. In future posts, I’ll break down my morning/evening and other routines and detail my scheduling/to-do list process, but first… a story.
As established, I thrive on routine. I think that’s why being on strike has been a struggle because the long-established routine of “going to work” doesn’t exist. However, that was soon replaced with “going to picket” and eventually “going to captain” and then “going to work on the fund”— all things I had a semblance of control over. I am in the middle of a strike, and while I’m not thriving, I’m surviving it as well as can be (by the way, I had a similar outlook in the early days of pandemic, and this is while I was also getting divorced! But, because of some sort of routine that worked well at the time, I also had major career milestones and was spending more time with my then-2-year-old I wouldn't have had were we not forced to quarantine)
Routine allows us to create continuity and stability in our lives, no matter the circumstances. This can be a very powerful tool for an anxious brain like my own. Being a schedule queen and following a routine doesn’t mean every minute of my day is scheduled— there’s just certain things I make sure to do every day or the same time each week. Unless there’s extenuating circumstances.
Last week I had extenuating circumstances in the form of covid, birthday, and canceled plans. I retained as much of my routine as possible, but it wasn’t the same. It felt more like a chore to mediatate-stretch-journal-gratitude-etc-etc and I was dealing with too much. The problem is, everything then sort of spiraled and depression kicked in.
Life felt hard in a way transitioning back into routine should probably feel, but the fact it was hard and I wasn’t utilizing my same coping mechanisms, mixed with a dash of PMDD, and we had ourselves a full-on pity-fest. Thankfully I have wonderful people in my life that I reach out to when this happens. Plans were made, feelings shared, and tears were shed. I felt better, but still not myself.
I woke up yesterday feeling awful— like there was a lump in my throat holding all my emotions. I got through the morning, but didn’t do any of my usual morning rituals. By the time I dropped off my son at school, I was truly blue. With tears threatening to spill out, I decided to treat myself to a “fancy coffee” (aka any coffee that I don’t make at home) from a shop I knew was offering a WGA discount. Except when I was about to fork over my $6 for an iced oat-milk vanilla latte, I was told they were no longer honoring the discount. It felt like a kick in the teeth. The lump in my throat grew.
I got into the car and Megan Trainor’s “Don’t I Make it Look Easy” came on. A fun bop that I love and relate to:
“Don't I make it look easy, baby
When I do what I do? (Uh, huh)
Don't I make it look easy, baby? Ah, ah
Well, I'm fooling you”
The tears finally spilled out…
“You think I live the lavish life, happy life
But you don't know I'm up all night
Worrying 'bout my body type
I wonder if I'm what they like
But I should just say fuck it, right?
Shoo, ah, pa, pa, sha, uh, ah, pa, pa, sha, uh (mhm)
Ooh-oh, and you won't ever see me cry (I'm not crying)
'Cause I've got a filter for every single lie”
Now it was a full-on sob. I hadn’t sobbed like this since… well, a few weeks ago, if I’m being honest, but this time it felt so hopeless and so out of nowhere. And I was about to picket and be around a bunch of people feeling the same way I was!
I parked, dried my tears, and tried to put on a happy face. It wasn’t working this time. So, instead of greeting everyone with my usual cheerleader smile, I said I was struggling. I said I needed hugs and good music and maybe space. I got to spend the morning with one of my closest writer friends and be myself. And you know what happened? By the time 12pm rolled around, I really did feel better!
I spent the rest of the afternoon routine-less (post-picket shower and cry-fest? Not today, satan! Pressure to send at least 25 grocery grants? How about “let’s just work on it until we’re tired” instead? Mid-day manicure!? Why the fuck not?) By the time I picked up my son, I was in a full-on “let’s get ice cream” mood (which is actually part of the Friday “routine”) And then something wonderful happened: when I told my son how I was feeling worried about the strike, he reassured me he wasn’t worried at all.
“Why aren’t you worried?”
“Because you told me before that in the past you’ve always won, so you’ll win again”
He was right. He still had unwavering faith. It was exactly what I needed to hear. I opened myself to an opportunity for magic from the universe, and it delivered. (Also, I am apparently an amazing parent, so I’ll give some credit to myself here.)
Things are hard right now, but there are ways to make them just a tad easier. Find some version of stability in unstable times, but also allow for magic to happen… because it will.