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‘I am stretched to brittle’: How to throw out the to-do lists and just be

Does your hardest taskmaster live inside your head? After a year of striving, exertion and flying headlong towards burn-out, Vee Sey frees herself from the mental prison of her own design

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'I am stretched to brittle': How to throw out the to-do lists and just be

A light-footed lark ready to conduct the dawn chorus myself, I wake at 5.30am and seize the day! I make a decaf because, you know, journal morning pages to inspire creativity of the highest calibre, then head out for my pre-work run. I must go further than yesterday because I have a target and I cannot fall behind. I do it, plus a kilometre. I stumble indoors, mottled from the chill. I have a scalding scrub โ€“ no bubbles, no time โ€“ and let my hair dry into my jumper because there isnโ€™t a spare moment for preeningโ€ฆ Before I start rat-a-tat-tatting on my keyboard with hard intention and supreme focus as the busy workday begins. 

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Lunchtime oโ€™clock sharp, after gulping down two slabs of toast with peanut butter and banana โ€“ because I must exceed my five-a-day, some say 10 โ€“ is mindful walking for 60 minutes along the soothing riverbank to bring me peace and a clear head, fewer quandaries and more solutions. I see a dainty robin redbreast and wonder if he is a Scandinavian holidaymaker for a nanosecondโ€ฆ Lucky him. I rush past mute swans gliding, stretching, turning languidlyโ€ฆ I dart into the supermarket to get fresh vegetables for dinner, which I always make from scratch. The mallards, I think, have left for a more hospitable placeโ€ฆ

Downtime is listening to self-improvement, spiritual fulfilment and healthy living podcasts or reading books about how to run faster, achieve greater, get happier, be more. I am a wide-eyed owl devoid of wisdom. That light-hearted murder mystery my friend gave me is too dusty to touch. I really must clean in here. My phone buzzes relentlessly because I overcommunicate on text, email and call. I give it, them, my all. I work. I bring the worms. Iโ€™m just a girl who canโ€™t say no, so I take on a project to do at weekends. I do my best every time, all the time. Arenโ€™t I marvellous?

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I do not feel marvellous. My body and mind are weary. Itโ€™s been an interminable year and I have been pushing myself for most of it. I am stretched to brittle, and I know I am not the only one. I spot you in the mornings, checking your speed and time. I see you in the shop, wildly grabbing items while planning something life-and-death urgent on the phone. Multitasking. I watch you online, amending files at a frenetic pace and always replying swiftly to my never-ending double checks. I am sorry about those. 

On morning gallop-plus-plus, out of the frosty blue, I come to an abrupt halt and begin to cry. If I could sink to my knees like a defeated Rocky without causing upset, embarrassment and an unnecessary ambulance call by a passerby, I would. The wall they say you hit is touching my nose. The inflexible day goes on and by 9pm I can barely shuffle. As I make a cup of tea, I spill boiling water on my thumb. โ€˜You stupid b****! Look what you did!โ€™ shrieks a hostile voice. She is me. Being horrible to myself. Always cracking her whip.

My message to you and me is this: Please stop. Your perfectionism and slave-driving cannot go on. Look after yourself. Allow a protective wing across your overburdened shoulders. If you donโ€™t have someone to offer you one, nurture yourself. That is what is pressing. Ease into a morning and see how it evolves unscheduled. Linger over something pleasurable just for you. Read for entertainment because enlightenment doesnโ€™t come in a flash. Batch-cook so you donโ€™t have to do it on repeat. Stroll free, donโ€™t run. You donโ€™t have to exert yourself to full capacity every waking moment. Have fewer waking moments. 

We talk of slowing down and self-compassion so knowingly, but what do they mean? Release that breath you are holding and stop trying so hard. You are doing a brilliant job and itโ€™s time to rest. And, conscientious and well-meaning little bird, there is never, ever, any reason to speak to yourself that way.

Words: Vee Sey

Photograph: Getty Images

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