Motivation -> Pushing -> Crashing -> Resting -> Guilt

This is what we call a "Vicious Cycle", and it is one that I am currently caught in.

Motivation -> Pushing Too Hard -> Crashing -> Resting -> Guilt.

I often get these spurts and rushes of motivation. I start a project or work on one I have had on-the-go, for months or years, to the point where I wind up causing a flare-up of some kind. My body eventually crashes and forces me to slow down or to take a break completely.
When that happens, I need to rest. Resting is the only way I can manage to build up enough energy to do anything at all. Resting, though, is much tougher than it sounds. To actually force yourself to sit still and do absolutely nothing for long stretches of time, can feel torturous. Resting can also create this boiling point of emotions... well, one emotion: Guilt. Guilt for resting too long. Guilt for not trying harder. Guilt for pushing too hard, or guilt for not pushing through it, when I feel like I should.

What I am struggling the most with is that my threshold keeps lowering. And lowering. And lowering.

I always have these emotions about what I *should* be able to accomplish in a specific time period. I should be able to do the dishes every single day. I should be able to go for an actual walk with my dog 3x a week. I should be able to do a little bit of yoga and light stretching every single night before bed. But then when I DO those things, that first week my body completely crashes. I keep trying to build up my threshold - I keep working to improve my resting time or how quickly I crash, but I don't seem to experience much progress, if any. On the contrary, it seems to get worse each time I try and push myself through something.

So then I rest.
I rest and recuperate and I make lists and come up with new ideas and try to modify every activity in my life. I think of new ways to attack my 'to-do' lists and to improve my strength and flexibility but in manner that does not result in a crash that takes me out for days or weeks or even months. I attempt every angle that I can think of and I am always learning new ways of adapting.
Then, when I have recuperated enough, I start to get that feeling of motivation again. Actually, I never feel like I have rested enough, to be honest. It's more that when the guilt has taken over every corner of my mind, that's when I find my motivation.
Then it is all about a new project or a new idea, a new way to work on a project already in progress, a new routine to try.

So the cycle continues.

Time is moving too fast and my energy keeps dwindling. Even on days when my pain is lessened, I still cannot seem to manage some of the simplest tasks. Not only that, but this cycle shouldn't occur so quickly each time.
This cycle used to occur every 3 months or so. It would take 3 months of a steady, nearly chaotic, routine before my body would just shut down. Then my body would crash and flare-up from pushing just that little extra. The recuperation time back then was also minimized. The average, I would venture to say, was about 4 days. A week - tops. That is all I needed to rest and recuperate. Then, the moment I felt a little bit better, I could go another 3 months of full and wonderful chaos.
The pain and the symptoms were always there, just slightly less invasive.

Now I can go through this cycle in one week. Sometimes this cycle can be gone through in a single day.

So how does this change things?
It means that an activity like emptying the dishwasher could be the activity that pushes my body too far. So instead of being able to empty the dishwasher AND put dirty dishes into the newly emptied dishwasher is a feat I cannot accomplish. Which makes me feel like a failure. It's such a simple task. It embarrasses me to admit defeat over something so menial.
Then comes the crash.
From emptying a dishwasher.
My body retaliates and I wind up spending the next three hours huddled on the bed pretending that the show I am watching is enthralling. Pretending that I WANT to be lying in bed, when really all I want to do is go for a RUN!
After those three hours go by, I start to think about how many other things I could have accomplished in those three hours. I start to think of how lazy I feel sitting and watching tv. The guilt. Oh the horrible horrible guilt.

Here's the thing:

I want to be better. I want to always be able to improve. I want to become a better writer. I want to be a better musician and a better singer. I want to be a better performer. I want to learn new skills and fine-tune other skills. I want to improve my energy and improve my physical activity levels. I want to be more flexible and gain strength. There are so many things I would like to do and to try.
I want to be a better partner. I want to be a better puppy mum. I want to be a better friend and sister and daughter.

I have these clashing voices inside my head.

One of them tells me to suck it up and to be fearless. She tells me to throw caution to the wind and just do everything that I want to do. That the reason I am not doing these things is because I choose not to. That if I really wanted it enough, I could manage it, but that I am letting my illnesses control too much of my life.

Another voice tells me that pushing myself will result in more pain. The last few years have proven that pushing myself is no longer improving my well-being over time, but just setting me back each time my body crashes. Like one step forward and two steps back, each time. So I can't just throw myself into whichever idea or project I begin. I can't just *decide* tomorrow that I can suddenly work 8 hours a day again and gain a little bit more purpose. It reminds me that each crash gets worse and worse as time passes, and that my body never seems to get used to them.

Then there is the always encouraging voice in my head. The one that tells me that I am doing my best, that I am trying to do everything that I possibly can. This voice reminds me that I took full advantage of my ability to play sports when I did. That I went traveling when I could. That each and every single day I do SOMETHING around the house so that RJ does not have to do every single thing. It reminds me of ways I have pushed myself without causing a crash. It reminds me that every single day I try to do something specific that improves my life and my well-being. That encouraging voice reminds me that feeling guilty is so absolutely useless. It reminds me to try again tomorrow. To make a list of what I want to accomplish, and then take things one step at a time. One day at a time. Hell, one minute at a time. Try again tomorrow. Get back up, when I can, and look at it from a different angle. Keep trying.

There is, of course, the element of fear. Fear plays a part in every facet of this cycle. I am always fearful of what I may never accomplish. I am fearful of what I could lose. I am fearful of pushing myself to my breaking point, or to push myself so much that my body breaks down for longer than just a few weeks or months. I am fearful because pushing myself, with some of the diseases I have, could result in irreparable damage, and that I could wind up worse off because of it. I am fearful that I will never finish certain endeavors that I have started.
I am fearful that I will never feel well enough to be fearless again.
I used to be fearless. Fearless and yet cautious.

How did I ever find that balance?
How can I find it again?

Well, tonight is not that night.
But I will try again tomorrow.
For as long as it takes.