After two months off, I started back at work last week. Mamma mia, I was not prepared.
When you’re used to working a standard 45 hour week, plus overtime, plus commuting, you take your energy for granted. Thanks to my old boss, I’m back at my old workplace waitressing temporarily until I find something full time and permanent. I’m mostly back to normal Sophie again, thanks to a wonderful combination of the right medication and support being thrown at me from every direction, so it felt like the next step was to try to ease myself back into a routine, which meant thinking about starting back at work. Doing a job I know, in a familiar place, working with friends, seemed to be the perfect stepping stone back into the world of work after a rocky few months. But last week was really hard. About 3 hours into my 7 hour shift I could feel my energy dying a dramatic death. I powered through, but came home at the end of the day and collapsed onto my bed in a heap and fell asleep.
My first thought when I woke up was that I was doomed to a life of lethargy and work, sleep, sleep, work. My second thought was that I wanted to go back to sleep because my life of lethargy had begun, so I might as well get ahead of the game. Then I toned down the drama and figured that I might as well keep trying, taking each day as it comes.
It’s now a week later and after my shift yesterday I still had bounce in me. I walked home, jumped in the shower, then went back out again to meet up with friends. My energy is coming back. I’m getting out of the house at least once a day to do something, see someone, go somewhere. Most days I’m spending most of my time out of the house. These are my little victories. Things are getting better. I’m over the hill. Normality, here I come.