Every time I think I've let go of feeling guilty about falling short of an idealized version of myself I come to realize there's a whole new layer of feeling under the surface. I went off work six years ago due to severe fibromyalgia (and depression and diabetes) and have gone through much inner-work in order to feel okay with my limitations. I've got to a point where I mostly feel okay with not working, instead of feeling lazy, like I'm shirking my responsibilities etc. Having worked hard and paid into disability all those years when I was able-bodied means I'm entitled to a disability pension now that I'm disabled. There's no need for me to feel guilty about being on a disability pension. I think I get it. However, sleeping until 11 a.m., then staying in my pajamas until noon, I'll never feel okay with that. I don't do this every day (though it's been more frequently lately), only when I have trouble sleeping at night and therefore can't manage to get up at a decent hour. It bothers me that I still carry a notion of needing to get up at a 'decent' hour. Who cares anymore? My children are out on their own now, I don't have a job, my partner is self-sufficient etc. etc. there's no earthly reason why I can't just go with the flow and let my ever-changing level of wellness dictate what times I sleep, what times I get up, when I stay in my pajamas etc. It's like I'm hanging onto some semblance of normalcy that just doesn't gel with my new reality. This new reality of living around an illness, of taking the good moments as they come, of enduring the not so good moments. I need a new philosophy, one that does not berate the self for falling short, but celebrates a fragile life perched between doing and being. oh dear all I wanted to post about was being in my p.j's until noon and look where all it's led me.