I’m easily overstimulated. It only takes a few variables to leave me close to a meltdown. In the worst case scenarios, I’m essentially blind and deaf – my vision and hearing literally shut down when I can’t take it anymore. Equations like:
loud music + 2 kids talking to me at the same time + being tired
OR
hunger + someone talking to me + trying to execute a left-hand turn
These can easily equal tunnel vision, no vision, or a brief loss of hearing. This has happened while driving and in social situations and it is terrifying.
After reading several books with protagonists who were on the Autism Spectrum, I started to wonder if maybe I was on one end of that, but it didn’t quite feel right. I don’t think it’s that I experience the world that differently from other people, I experience it MORE and LOUDER.
I don’t remember how I came across the books written by Elaine N. Aron, Ph.D., about highly sensitive people. There are a number to choose from, but I went for The Highly Sensitive Parent: Be Brilliant In Your Role, Even When The World Overwhelms You, which I then kept for way past its due date at the library.
Have you ever had a period in time where your body wasn’t keeping up with your mind? You had ideas or dreams, but were too tired or unwell to chase them? Oh maybe it’s your mind that’s fatigued by the continual stress of living in the current world.
I’ve been feeling that way lately. My brain is full of inspiration, but I have very little energy to act on it. Some days, regardless of how much energy I have, my brain sad, unmotivated, and stressed.
Usually, slow-paced books make me want to saw my leg off. These books are not so much slow, though, as thoughtful. They make you want to take a breath and re-calibrate.
I keep trying to find ways to introduce this book. All of them are depressing reflections on the ways my life has changed during the pandemic (no more quiet time, whether I like it or not). I have struggled to balance the emotional and physical drain of daily life with activities that energize, allow my brain and body to rest, and make me laugh.
This book book did all of those things.
I’ve been gently asked by the Universe to prod my feelings about fatness and fat people.
I’ve gradually added people on social media to make my feed more size inclusive. I’ve followed the movement in the sewing community to hold pattern makers accountable for providing inclusive sizing.
And I’ve been reading Lindy West.
I was in my early twenties and taking courses towards my nursing degree when I attended one Saturday Anatomy and Physiology class wearing a shirt that said “Chubs.” My professor asked me about it.
“Oh, it’s just an inside joke in my family,” I said carelessly. We’d been calling baby carrots “chubs,” and then it became something we called each other, with variations ad infinitum, including the plural “chubs and ubs,” and so on. We made shirts. We never thought too much about it.
The professor looked me in the eye. He said, “You can do that because you’re not fat.”
A while back, I said I planned to write more thoughtful posts and fewer sewing and book posts. That commitment might have happened on a Superwoman day, or sometime before the pandemic. It seems like it was too hard to manage, because despite my commitment, the blog hasn’t changed.
Now, I sit here with a collection of five books that from outward appearance have nearly nothing to do with one another, and I’m trying to figure out how to knit them together into one cohesive post.
By the time you read this, it will be February. Things might be better than they are now, or they might still be about the same.
Maybe you want to consume something other than news, to stretch yourself, or just escape into a good story, learn something new, or melt into a puddle… one of these books might just do it for you. I hope so.
