Sharing the lessons along the way…

Calling a Time-out!


When I was a little girl, I hung out with my older brother’s friends a lot and sometimes boys get rough.  During the daily games of kickball during the summers in our yard, when things got rough, I would start asking for a time-out. 

When my brother denied my request, I would cry and start screaming for the time-out.  I believed if he would have just granted me the time-out when I asked the first time, then I could have avoided being the “cry baby” altogether. 

Little Tawny

If you can picture a 6 or 7-year-old little girl standing in the middle of a yard full of little boys with her hands on her hips, glaring squarely at her big brother on the pitcher’s mound, then you can imagine what I used to look like.    Add a red, tear-stained, dirty face, and a right foot stomping into the ground, and you really have the visual.

Over the course of my life and particularly over the last almost ten years with Primary Lateral Sclerosis, I have had many occasions to cry out for a time-out.  Sometimes I could get a short reprieve from whatever chaos I was experiencing, as if it had been universally granted. 

When one was not granted, I would feel like that red-faced little girl looking out at life as if it were my big brother on the pitcher’s mound, putting my hands on my hips, stomping my feet (if I could) and fighting back my tears. 

I started giving myself time-outs by stepping away from the situations and trying to look for the bigger picture or for the lesson.  This would work if I could see the lesson or the bigger picture through the immediate angst, but often I could not (and cannot) see that until later on. 

Instead, I might just have to step away from anyone involved, so that I could be the “cry baby” as much as I needed to be without anyone feeling obligated to tell me just how “ok” everything was going to be.  If I was at the point where I was in need of a time-out, I definitely did not want to hear someone trying to convince me that I did not really need one.

Since the pump drama began in mid-2010, I have found myself in need of many more time-outs than I would like to admit.  Most of them have not been granted so far, although I have found my own little diversions to tide me over. 

I have shared some of those with you in previous blogs and will likely continue to share them because I continue to need new and different ones while I wait for the granting of my time-out. 

I have been through enough at this point in the kickball game of life that I trust it will all work out ok at some point, but that doesn’t change my need for a break to catch my breath.

Ball.

Deflated Kickball. (Photo credit: Hidinhumiliation)

What about you?  Do you shout out for a time-out in your own life?  What do you do if one isn’t granted?   

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Comments on: "Calling a Time-out!" (3)

  1. It has been a while since I needed a time out, but I remember the feeling all too well. When that despair would set in, I would do funny mind games like think if I threw away all my medications, I would get the time out – everything would be better. I would know I was getting really bad when my imagined time out involved driving into a tree so I didn’t have to work so hard at feeling better. Both very irrational but then chronic pain seems to destroy rational thinking after a while. I think my most effective attempts at finding a few minutes of time out were to use gentle music, relaxation, and visualization. Hang in there, Tawny.

    Like

    • Hi Pat,
      I got to thinking about this need for a time-out and how interesting it is that I forgot the nearly four year time-out I had prior to all of this surgery/pump drama nonsense. I agree that chronic pain does a number on rational thought and it sure makes it a challenge to reframe the irrational. Do you find your pain actually makes your breathing erratic (more shallow and rapid unless you are conscious of your breath)? Hugs and thank you!

      Like

      • Yes it does affect my breathing. I try not to focus on pain – I am really good at denial. But my breathing isn’t under my control and so it is my signal that pain is increasing. When the pain get really bad I have involuntary gasps, like I am trying to gulp in huge amounts of air. My breathing is also shallow and rapid. Pain does a number on our bodies. I admire your brain and attitude. You are a fighter.

        Like

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