Pgh Lesbian Correspondents

Each day, I have a plan. I set some goals and make an effort to meet them, with varying results. But I revise the plan and move forward. I try not to define things as failures, simply disappointments. And I try not to think about the next day unless I must.

I know people in 12-step programs have language around day by day and working programs, but that is not for me. Both of my therapists strongly discourage me from considering it because it is not trauma informed. So any overlap here is strictly coincidental because I don’t honestly know much about them.

My daily plan came from my therapy – structure and my approach to it can help stabilize my mood, manage my anxiety, and minimize trauma responses.

In the morning, I turn on the coffeemaker, feed the inside and outside cats, and then head into the living room with the first warm cup sloshing precariously in my hand. Burned flesh is not on the plan, so I have perfected the walk and slurp approach to get to the sofa.

I turn on the cat laser toy, click on the most recent episode of General Hospital, and sip with contentment.

When I wake up enough for cup of coffee number two, I make myself do the dishes before I can have it. Doesn’t count until I put at least 87% away, not just stacked on the counter. 87% is tough to calculate so best just put it all away, right?

Each day I plan to eat several times, including my kale smoothie. What I eat can vary wildly. But eating is eating. At the end of the day, if I have not eaten – the plan is to grab a yogurt from the fridge so I end on a win.

I break up my day – mornings on the first floor, afternoons in the new cattic space, evenings in my bedroom.

The cats also have plans. The morning cats help me make breakfast. My sweet Muriel comes up on the sofa and curls up, always on my right side. It is our special time together. If I’m heading out or just puttering, she gets on the sofa and dives under a pillow watching me with woe. I should add this is all due to hard work of helping her to manage her own anxiety – pheromones, Prozac, mandatory snuggles, and staying on top of her flea allergy. It is rewarding to see her bloom and enjoy herself each morning.

In the cattic, the afternoon cats watch me while enjoying the snacks I dole out from my secret stash. This is a rotating cast of characters. I stretch out on the futon sofa and read until the ache in my neck compels me to get up and wrestle one of those tasks. Sometimes I unpack and organize a box that’s been precariously tucked into a corner for 20 years. Other times, I straighten the couch cover and call it a day.

The evening kitties join me to eat dinner, watch tv, have another snack, and help me type. Mostly, they wait for their 9 PM supper. Once sated, they disappear to sleep it off. Loyalty is not a strong suit for this motley crew, but they make up for it with slavish attention seeking behavior at the most inopportune moments.

The only cat I don’t regularly see is Mollie. Sometimes she chooses to stay confined to the other bedroom. If she is out, she comes down for breakfast but is hesitant. What’s best for her would be more socialization with a timeout option, but there’s another cat in the room who needs companionship. This is why we need plans. But I figured out Mollie has been snoozing in the little cat tunnel outside my bedroom. She watches me warily as I have begun dropping exactly two treats in the tunnel. When next I check, treats are gone and Mollie often remains.

Sometimes, she appears on my bed at treat time so I know she’s fluctuating as a general rule.

Of course, I visit my colony. Once I finish my chores, I sit and talk with the cats. When they depart, I take it as my cue. I like sitting there – its quiet and peaceful, with the hum of the City just beyond the line of sight.

We have plans.

Sometimes they go awry or feel incomplete. While I acknowledge I can try again the following day, I also look for a way to salvage this one. Finish one small chore, read another chapter in my book, brush a cat or something like that. Then I program my little bedtime mind to say “you made the bed! you carried the cups to the kitchen! you emptied the waste can!”

So easy to dismiss as silly, they are in fact the hard work we put in to offset the lack of a solid emotional foundation in our youngest days. We can’t go back in time and make our parents do better, but we can bring ourselves along now with more gentleness and less rigidity.

It is very hard to make things better for ourselves if we don’t acknowledge that we deserve better. Certainly the abuses were terrible, but the neglect left its imprint as well.

Perhaps having a plan each day is useful for you. If not, that’s fine. If yes, remember there is no ‘right’ plan. It can be big or small, modified, even put on hold. There is no Weight Watchers weigh-in accountability, no exhibition to flaunt or fail.

You deserve access to tools to live a healthier and happier life, emphasis on access. There’s no requirement or rule book. I’ve tried to stop saying ‘my recovery’ because this is a new reality, not a space I can escape. The wounds will always be with me.

I do highly recommend you build your daily plan around your cat.