While Sipping My Favorite Brew: Morning Reflections – and Let’s Take a Look into the #Author’sCorner, #BusinessCorner, #PoetryPlace, and at All Our #SponsoringMembers

While sipping my favorite brew and reading my horoscope for the day, my muse and I had these thoughts.

This morning, I witnessed a very mentally ill lady in the middle of an episode, and I understood her position very well.

Once upon a time, before my world moved on and I learned to handle my mental illness rather than allow it to handle me, I was that girl.

Miserable in my own skin. Sometimes truthfully off balance due to an honest issue. Sometimes seeking attention, needing something I did not understand.

That needs self-fulfillment.

My sixteen-year-old daughter put it best once:

“You need something of your own before you can really give something to another.”

That was wise counsel.

Now I follow a strict morning routine. Away, home, disaster—whatever the circumstance, it is the same.

Up. Wash face. Brush teeth and hair. Drink water. Take meds. Do the morning necessary. Then, while the coffee is brewing, I stand at the counter and do ten reps of each physical therapy exercise I’ve been taught. By the time the rich odor of coffee begins to fill the room and my cuppa is ready, I’ve done everything needed to set my day in the correct motion.

Note: Though I couldn’t do the entire routine the first few days after surgery, I did part of it. I kept my rhythm.

A question I’ve been asked is: “Why did you send Blue away?”

Put like that, it sounds awful, and I wrestled with it until my trainer set me straight.

When Blue is with me, that routine includes a walk outside in the fresh morning air—or rain-filled air, crisp autumn air, or worst of all, ice storms and snow up past your boot tops.

Before that can happen, Blue has his own routine.

It requires him to do his doggy routine, which I’ve noted carefully over time. He gets up, yawns, stretches, comes for pets, and then spends about five minutes rolling back and forth across the floor scratching himself and, as I put it, getting all the kinks out.

Then he stands, stretches one long final time, raises his head, and sneezes a powerful sneeze.

Note: If you include a tummy rub in that mix, look out, because he gets excited and will sneeze directly on you.

My point, before I go too far down the rabbit hole, is this: you must be responsible for your illness, whatever that illness may be—mental, physical, or otherwise.

I remember people saying in frustration, “Oh, she forgot her insulin,” when Mom would have a “sugar episode,” as my grandmother called it.

And in one way I could understand, even at age ten. Mom always said, if you do what you’re supposed to do, you won’t go wrong. So, my ten-year-old brain wondered why she didn’t do that.

Thanks be to the Goddess I had an older sister who advised against asking Mom that question.

I’m still here on this earth because of such wonderful advice.

Well, I’m going off on a comet, so I’ll leave you with this.

Scorpio or not, there’s some great advice in there.

Read the article which inspired this post here.

This post is brought to you by a lot of talented people.

I’ve authors, Bloggers, Poets, Business Owners, and everything in between here.

Come on in and have a look around.

This morning, Abbie Johnson Taylor brings this post to your inbox. Let’s see what she’s for us to enjoy.

We’ll begin with, A Is for Apples #SundaySunshine #Gratitude #Inspiration

Today, Abbie writes, Who’s Talking? #MondayMusings #OpenBookBlogHop #WritingPrompts

I really like this one.