[enter contribution to society, stage left]

So.

This happened today:

Whistler, adopted February 11, 2015

Whistler, adopted February 11, 2015

 

That’s right.

Our foster kitty found his fur-ever home.

I decided awhile ago that I’d wanted to “maybe” volunteer for the Ottawa Stray Cat Rescue (OSCATR).

There there was a call out for foster homes for cats that were a part of the fire that occurred in Richmond, Ontario, this past November.

One of the cats was said to be pregnant.

In fact, ‘she’ was a ‘he’ but they still really needed foster homes.

I thought and I thought.

I pondered and I pondered.

How to make it work? How to fit in volunteer time in the chaos of my reality?

And, I was reminded of a conversation I’d had with my dad several months ago when I was in the middle of reciting all of the made-for-tv-movie kind’o’life events that were occurring and he’d gently asked me:

“Do you think maybe you have too much on your plate? Is there a way to downsize anywhere?” It really was what I’d been doing for several years…where could I cut down? What could I cut out? What were my needs versus my wants?

But, I’d had an epiphany, of sorts. Before this conversation.

I responded simply:

I do things, I *need* to do things, that make me feel productive without sacrifice, that boost my self-esteem, that give me a quality of life that I otherwise think would succumb to the immense depression and result in a worsening health condition.

I “Do.” things (like volunteer to sit as President on my condo’s Board of Directors or organize Kubb Canada events and appearances) because it makes me feel like I’m contributing to my immediate community.

It’s not the “what” that I’m doing…it’s the “why.”

Doing things gives me esteem. Doing things provides me a quality of life I believe I really took for granted when not afflicted in the long-ago past.

And, I also realized that my kids are getting older and capable of doing so much more for themselves. So, I let them. It’s never perfect. It’s never on time. But it’s one thing OFF my proverbial plate so that I can ensure I continue wanting to live a life marred by pain. I could sit in my blanket fort and never come out.

Or, I could “Do.” things and find small ways to bring immeasurable relief within a life that, at times, sucks absolute balls. True story.

So, I sent an email. I made a contact. I became a foster home for needy cats.

Today? Today our foster buddy, Whistler, went to his “I’m going to love the hell out of you for the rest of your natural life, while giving you headbutts and cheek cuddles” home.

I provided my time and abilities that helped out a small portion of our community. In return, I feel like my contribution contained worth and, thus, enhanced my esteem and confidence.

Not easy to make contacts with a social anxiety issue. This is an avenue through which I get to practice. A lot. 🙂

Also spent the day procuring a metric ton of groceries (one of those, “Everything we ever need or use, just ran out” kind of groceries…y’know…”Would you like ketchup with your butter sandwich?” kind of groceries…the “Someone important is going to come to home and open my fridge and my kids will go bye-bye” kind of groceries). It was minus eleventy-billion. I was feeling like a big bag of total suck.

But, as the fire roars and my kids are well-fed and my last two remaining brain cells are just about ready to zone out looking at photos of the cosmos…I feel, not gonna lie, just a little proud of myself for ensuring that it is understood just why I would seemingly take on “extra” things for my plate.

Because, it’s my plate. It’s the only one I have. And, I need to be proud of it enough to continue to nurture and expand it.

Think about it like being #selfcare on Prednisone.

That. 😉

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