Persistent, not consistent.
you can wrap yourself in a magic lace quilt every day if you need to
Consistency is the sharp, spiky ruler I use to measure my worth.
A feature of my ADHD is that notions of what I need (or want) to do melt away from my mind almost as soon as they arrive there. I spend a lot of time scooping them up, moulding them back into a recognisable shape, and attempting to hold them somewhere in my syrupy mind. This isn’t really conducive to getting the same things done every day without fail.
I’m also autistic and have chronic pain, both of which require me to notice and negotiate my energy levels and capacity – measuring the physical and mental cost of doing something against the investment in my life, the people I love and my community. This can make it challenging to keep up with all the things that make my life feel full: habits, communication, self-care, hobbies, and socialising.
With my eyes fixed on consistency—the thing I’ve learned is the measure of a good and capable adult—I ignore my body’s cues and push myself forward, snapping cords holding precious things together. When you live life obsessed with measuring cups and spiky rulers, at some point, everything boils over. You have to stop. You can’t be consistent; you can’t be anything. You need rest, to take care of yourself, wait patiently for your energy to reform, and begin again. Early last year, I found myself in an exhausting cycle of this, and I knew it wasn’t a sustainable way to approach my days.
I tried to give myself space from consistency, to shake it out of my language, untangle it from my mind. I removed its resoluteness from around my shoulders, folded it up, and put it away high up in a tall cupboard that I always forget to look in—keeping it close, just in case I needed it back again. In the space that opened up, I froze. I had no idea how to map out my time or hold myself accountable without the stifling pressure of absolutely having to do the same things every week, and the story that if I couldn’t, I wasn’t a real person somehow. (Describing this now, I’m struck by how fierce my self-blame and internalised ableism were.)
Persistence was the word that rose to meet me. I liked it straight away.
My friend said she wonders if, perhaps for all of us, consistency is a myth and we’re all pretending to each other that we do things consistently. I took a deep breath when she told me this.
Consistency is a staircase on a staircase on a staircase.
Responding to a dog licking you the same way you respond to lightning striking you.
Gathering flowers to make a harness.
Persistent is twenty sweet times in a blue moon.
Being a student of beginnings.
Listening to contraction clearing its throat and expansion humming a scale.
There is something humble about persistence; it knows that things will probably fall apart, we’ll get ill, we’ll lose things, we’ll be distracted, we’ll be exhausted. Still, we can still choose to return again to the things we’re drawn to. Because they’re worth returning to and they’ll be glad to see us, even if it’s been a while, even if we’re unsteady.
Getting dressed, persistently
After a chronic pain flare-up, on a day when my pain is quieter, persistence is deciding to get dressed again. I think, what’s the point? I’ve been wearing old jumpers and pyjamas two sizes too big for weeks. I’ll just wear this to go out; it’ll do. Days haven’t felt like mine to be in, putting on clothes won’t make anything better. The pain will still be there.
I tried to figure out if there was a way to get dressed to bring my pain with me, without trying to hide its presence from myself or from other people.
I started wrapping a scarf, my favourite jumper, or something delicate around the parts of my body where the pain is intense. Then I tried layering up the most intricate clothes I own, patch-working them together in a way that feels like I’m weaving a magic, protective lace quilt of my own invention. I really love this way of wrapping my body up, I feel like myself and I feel held together by something else too. It’s a visual reminder to myself that my body needs care, but also that I don’t need to mask the pain from other people.
When I get dressed again—persistently, in a deliberate way—that doesn’t ignore what’s going on in my body, something that starts off as visually pleasing can have a soothing effect on my whole system.
I like that persistence only asks us to try again, as we are: we can take a step forward, carrying the pain, the hopelessness, the exhaustion, or the grief with us—around our shoulders, our waist, in our bag, tied to our hair, or in our shoes.
The odd thing is that I now do more things consistently than I ever have. I think it’s because I’m not forcing it; it’s just happening. Without the spikiness and grasping, I watch the things I do flow towards me and away from me. The important things almost always come back.
Books To Pair With Persistence
The Wisdom of Your Body by Hillary McBride
The Argonauts by Maggie Nelson
Thanks so much for reading. If you enjoyed this newsletter, please subscribe and pass onto anyone who might like to read it too.
Take care,
Sarah x
Footnote Feelings
A poem by non-speaking autistic poet Hannah Emerson about beginning again
CENTER OF THE UNIVERSE
Please try to go
to hell frequently
because you will
find the light there
yes yes — please
try to kiss the ideas
that you find there
yes yes — please
try to get that
it is the center
of the universe
yes yes — please
try to help yourself
by kissing the hot hot
hot life that is born
there yes yes — please
try to yell in hell
yes yes — please
try to free yourself
by pouring yourself
into the gutter all
guttural guttural yell
yes yes yes — please
try to get that you
become the being
that you came there
to be yes yes — please
try to go to the great
great great fire that you
created because you
become the light
that the fire makes
inside of you
yes yes — please
try to kiss yourself
for going there
I felt this so deeply that I could have cried at a few points that you articulated so well. Beautiful, Sarah.
My word is continuation over consistency. Like you I try to mould myself to an ideal I’ll never meet, then it becomes never ending and I’m bending over backwards and losing myself in the process.
I related so much to this so thank you for sharing. X