It Would Only Take the Energy to Fix It

reflections on periods of fatigue

Photo by Marek Piwnicki on Unsplash

I’ve had boygenius’s “the record” on repeat since it came out. Teenage Kate, a closeted poet who loved to listen to Hole and Veruca Salt and Nirvana, would have been enamored with their lyrics and tunes. 37-year-old Kate certainly is.

But today’s newsletter isn’t a love letter to boygenius as much as a discussion of how one of their songs resonates with me as a person with chronic illness who cycles through periods of fatigue. I’m currently navigating an ongoing bout of fatigue.

In “Not Strong Enough,” the “boys” open up with these lyrics:

Black hole opened in the kitchen
Every clock's a different time
It would only take the energy to fix it
I don't know why I am
The way I am, not strong enough to be your man
I try, I can't stop staring at the ceiling fan and
Spinning out about things that haven't happened
Breathing in and out

I tend to follow the “one-minute rule,” an idea that if something can be done in one minute, you should just do it then: wash the dish, make the bed, take out the garbage. I feel satisfied when I’m in a tidy space and all my needs have been met.

I’ve gotten so used to following the one-minute rule that I tend to forget that even one-minute tasks take energy. While on some days I might feel motivated to sort the laundry and carry a load from the second floor down to the washer in the basement, on another day, that single line on the to-do list—wash laundry—might leech out more energy than I can spare. Recently, my life has left like the latter.

I have chronic Lyme disease and Epstein Barr Virus, and I’ve been experiencing flare-ups on and off over the last few years. When my illnesses are reactivated during a flare-up, my limbs feel so heavy and I have to exert myself to stand up, to walk around the block, or just to plant my feet securely so I don’t trip. I’m even reticent to pick things up, worried that my grip will give out and I’ll drop a favorite mug to shatter on the floor.

In “Not Strong Enough,” we’re dealing with a sudden black hole in the kitchen, an astronomical obstacle that no single person should be expected to solve. And the idea of fixing all the out of sync clocks—getting up, taking them down, twisting the little knobs, and hanging them back up—feels just as hard as figuring out how to sew up a seam in the universe.

When boygenius sing about staring at the ceiling fan in a bout of inaction, I get it.

During a flare-up, the fatigue feels like my bones and muscles just melt, like my body turns into a pile of fabric strewn on the couch.

Sometimes I forget that I have chronic illnesses because things go smoothly for a long time. When I do find myself bogged down with inflamed joints, chills, and fatigue, it feels like an affront. But after years of flares, I know that my symptoms exist in an ecosystem of burnout. It’s a dance of navigating how much energy expenditure is too much to give and grieving the loss of what is outside my capacity.

Part of my journey, and I’m guessing yours, too, since you’re reading my work, is learning how to unravel my self-worth from productivity. I’ve made big strides in limiting my workdays, setting boundaries around my availability, and building blank space into my days—all of which have been necessary and helpful. But as I’ve been cycling through flares a few times a year, I’m wondering if I need to protect my personal resources a bit more.

In this season of my life, maybe this looks like letting the one-minute tasks remain undone, letting the clocks say 12:04 and 5:57 and 2:18, letting the laundry wait another day in the hamper on the second floor, and letting all of that be okay.

I’ll be back next week with the April Q&A post. I hope you all have a lovely week.

Take care and talk soon,

Dr. Kate