Normal Stress and it feels so Good

For those of you who have known me a while, you know that the last few years have been filled with more than a normal share of stress. The year Rebecca finished second year and we relocated to Wyandotte for her to start her clerkship, our pastor mentioned a survey that essentially quantified how stressful individual life events are, and then provides ranges of how stressful a person's life in general is. When we added mine up - graduating, getting married, moving, multiple new jobs, death of an immediate family member, poverty, death of chosen and extended family members - I was sitting somewhere around double the threshold for "very stressful." Some of these things are normal life events, of course. But piled up like that was overwhelming. And Josh's death wasn't a normal life event. Add in the stress of a same sex wedding my family didn't support and that wasn't legally recognized, combined with doing all of those things in the middle of the Recession, combined with changing providers and a med regimen that left me wiped, and pretty significant gastro problems, and well, to be honest, I barely survived.

But I did. And I gained perspective. So much perspective.

I just, this past month, finished my first peak season as a full-time test prep professional.  My "gay agenda" included lots of teaching, tutoring, paperwork, driving, student contact, parent contact, etc. Also eating, sleeping, trying to see my spouse, and . . . well, a whole lot of normal things. I was bone tired from working more than 60 hours a week. I missed my spouse because she too was working a lot, and not always the same schedule. I was stressed from the number of responsibilities. But really, it was invigorating. I was fulfilled. I was living the dream - making an honest living doing something I looked forward to. Making a difference for at least some of my students, I hope. My stress was for something that seemed to make sense, seemed to be moving forward.

And I realized something. This was what normal people (whatever that means) mean when they say that they're stressed, or "crazy busy," or tired. Not that their medication leaves them in a fog. Not that they wake up in the morning and realize that they will never see their beautiful brother's face light up. Not that they fear coming out at work, or having a health emergency while essentially uninsured, or watching their spouse be forced to go to "work" (unpaid) for more than 80 hours some weeks.

And it felt good. It felt good to be normal stressed and know that I could survive, and even thrive, in the face of challenges.