"It's not perfect...but it's mine."

One of the things I constantly seem to be at war with is - well - myself.

I often struggle with getting a balance right and wobble between pushing through regardless of my body's temperamental behaviour and accepting my body's limitations.

It's partly why this last flare-up took me out so much more than previous ones. My mental health wasn't up to the challenge this time, guilt gremlins were having a huge laugh at my expense, and I probably tried to "push through" for far longer than I should have before I even thought to speak to the doctor and work.

I still seem to be at the stage of my mind being in a state of denial about what my body can and can't do.

I was very much looking forward to the Adam Fest picnic last weekend. Seeing friends, getting out of the house, getting some fresh air and Vitamin D. I prepared as much as possible. I didn't exhaust myself with housework (a post for another time on my struggles with that subject) and my bag was packed with codeine and my handheld fan.

It was a hugely enjoyable weekend. In keeping with the pleasure/pain protocol (being physically punished for having fun) by Sunday evening I was bone tired.

I emailed my boss and HR on Monday morning to extend my phased return by repeating a week. I had been flagging on the previous Friday and my default was to try to push through but I caught myself and reasoned that probably wasn't the most sensible course when I'm still trying to phase myself back in.

They were very understanding and I was grateful to be able to have Tuesday and Thursday off, particularly with this latest heatwave exacerbating my fatigue.

I got to thinking over these last few days about my attitude towards my body and its foibles. I use aggressive, combative language, as I did only a few sentences ago, like "punishment" when I refer to a crash after a social occasion. Like my body is an enemy force just camouflaged and waiting to strike when I'm distracted.

I wonder if it is perhaps not particularly mentally productive to think in those terms. I was reminded of one of my favourite songs by Tim Minchin, Not Perfect, and I think it might represent a better way of thinking about my body.

I love this particular line:

And the weirdest thing about it is:

I spend so much time hating it

But it never says a bad word about me

Perhaps I should look at it this way: I had a lovely time with friends, after weeks and months of cabin fever at home. I really enjoyed being outside and the change of scene, and my body let me do that.

Instead of hating it for "punishing" me for that good time, perhaps I should be kinder to my body and show gratitude and appreciation for working hard enough to let me have that moment.

Maybe if my brain starts to show a bit more sympathy for my body instead of castigating it all the time and calling it useless, maybe there will be a bit more harmony and acceptance all round.