My brother has moaned to me more than once about taking time off work. His problem, is that the work keeps coming at the same rate, so when he does go back to work, he has a mountainous backlog to catch up on. Which then cancels out the restfulness of having had a break.
I find a similar issue with trying to get “back to normal” after a period (months, nay years) of mental ill health / not being on top of things / general frazzledom. See, the Stuff I needed to do kept coming even when I wasn’t dealing with it. And now I have piles of post, opened and unopened, around the house. Some of it is junk mail, some of it is now out of date, some of it would’ve been good to deal with at the time and some of it still needs dealing with now. I was, for too long, more often than not in a state where I was hiding in bed in the morning for as long as possible and struggling to do more than get the kids to and from school, fed whilst trying to keep the washing up mountain at bay (which is no mean feat in itself).
I’m now managing those things a bit more reliably and with less effort and, dare I say it, dealing with new stuff reasonably well as it comes in and starting to do things like paint walls and clean kitchen cupboards.
Those piles of stuff, the undealt with paperwork and all it symbolises, still lurks, menancingly in the corners of my house, taunting me.
Dealing with that, is a whole extra level up, facing up to the past, the shame, the mess, the decisions (is this still important, where do I file it, how long do I keep that for). And if I do make a tentative start then life seems to throw more things at me, broken boiler anyone? Nasty cold that won’t go away and makes me tired after walking a mile?
I feel a bit like I’m in a car, a rather clapped out old car, on the slip road, trying to build up enough speed to join a busy motorway, trying to time my acceleration with an approaching gap in the traffic and hoping that I won’t have to brake at the last minute and end up stationary and stuck again.