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Posts tagged self care
The enormity of little events
Jun 6th
The other day I noticed one of my friends had posted on Facebook that her daughter was off to sleep-away camp for the first time.
Below a darling photo of her smiling and excited daughter, my friend commented that she wasn’t quite sure whether to celebrate or have a good cry.
***
It seems to me that the months of May and June are nothing but transitions. Graduation. Camp. Recitals. Playoffs. And, when our kids get old enough, marriage… moving…
The list goes on and on.
Each time, those we love step an itsy bitsy bit farther away. They move farther away from being the little people who needed us for each and every thing.
This is also a time that is so busy we barely have a chance to catch our breath. Last Saturday, my own family’s calendar included no less than six events. I felt like I was running a non-stop shuttle, and my fingers were flying as I texted to make sure everybody was where they needed to be.
There’s no time to stop.
And when we do stop, it’s only because we’ve collapsed.
***
Many of us have mixed feelings about all this.
The things that happen are what we want for our children. We know they have to grow up and move on.
We are delighted.
We are proud.
We are miserable.
We miss them.
We are just plain tired.
It all fits in together just as naturally as the tears that followed their birth. Transition is complicated, but it’s quite possibly the only thing that is predictable.
Change is the only constant.
***
The problem with all this transition at a breakneck pace is that if we don’t take time to acknowledge what’s going on, we wake up one day and it’s over. Because we we’ve been so busy, we’ve almost forgotten what happened.
Suddenly, it’s just us. We strongly identified ourselves as being “mom” (or “aunt”, or “teacher” or whatever the role was that put us in close contact with these wonderful changing kids), but our role has changed.
Who are we, anyway?
In many cases, we have to figure it out all over again.
Hmmm. Sounds like another transition.
***
There’s no easy solution to this problem. I wish there were.
It helps to talk about it, particularly with those we love and who care about us.
Unfortunately, those going through the transition themselves often so absorbed with it (and with themselves as they turn into gorgeous butterflies) that it’s hard to have a meaningful conversation with them about all this. Our partners are just as overwhelmed and equally unprepared to deal with it.
Sometimes, it’s really only ourselves that we can talk to about these things. Perhaps we can squeeze in a couple of hours for some extreme self kindness, do some kind stretching or take ourselves out for a treat. We can acknowledge the enormity of the change and, perhaps very gently, our mixed feelings about it.
Sometimes we can write a letter and talk about what’s happening and how we feel. We don’t have to share the letter, but getting it out sometimes helps.
We can journal about it, and see what comes up.
Sometimes we can set aside time with friends who are going through the same thing, and have a chat over coffee or while out for a walk.
***
The important thing is to acknowledge the change. Give yourself permission to feel — even if those feelings make you want to cry.
Crying is perfectly fine, as are a million other reactions you might have.
There’s no right or wrong way to handle all this, no manual. You and your situation are completely unique, and if you follow your heart you will go through this in such a way that it helps you prepare for the next transtion…
…because you know it’s coming.
Full
Aug 21st
There are moments when I am more than full.
One little, tiny moment. My five-year-old comes bursting into the room, sobbing. She jumps on the bed, where I am reading, nestling in as close as she can get.
She was watching a movie with her sisters. At the beginning of the movie, the mommy had given the boy up for adoption. The mommy was missed the entire movie.
It was too much for this little one. Too, too much to bear.
Tears. Comfort. Reassurance. Kisses. Cuddling. Sleep.
For one of these little, tiny moments I would endure nearly anything.
I am full.
***********
If this seemed cool, you might also like:
Food insecurity — In which I suggest many of us are waiting for emotional leftovers…
Self care rebellion — When we’re too impossibly exhausted to take care of ourselves…
The beauty of kindergarten — Making big changes without dwelling on why or how…
Food Insecurity
Aug 19th
One of the projects I once researched for the Great State of Illinois was that of “food insecurity”.
“Food insecurity,” in a nutshell, means long periods of not knowing what you’ll have to eat. Whether you’ll have anything to eat. When you might have something to eat.
It can last for years, even lifetimes.
The thing I remember most was a study about mothers in households that suffered from food insecurity, and how they behaved around mealtimes. You see, they scraped together enough to feed their family. Meals usually were very high in low-cost, high-calorie foods like rice and noodles. If there was meat, it usually went to their partner and then was divided among the kids.
The moms in the homes that were studied rarely ate with the rest of the family. Instead, they waited. Then they ate what was left, and they rarely got to have anything beyond the rice or other high-calorie foods.
For years, I’ve imagined these women. Carefully shopping. Cooking. Getting everybody to the table. Making sure none of the people they love go hungry if they can help it.
And then waiting to see whether there is anything left.
I’m wondering whether many of us deal with other things in this way.
Emotional support, perhaps?
Are we like those women, wondering whether there will be enough, or when it will show up, or what will be there?
There we are. Caring for everyone. Making sure the kids’ owies are kissed. Feeding. Tucking. Reassuring.
And then, if there is anything left, hungrily feeding upon it until it’s gone. Taking anything, any little scrap, leaving not so much as a crumb unlicked from the emotional plate.
No concern about quality or balance, just wanting to feel full.
What would happen if we sat down at the table, put our napkins on our laps, and expected our share?
Self Care Rebellion
Aug 17th
I’ve never really liked the term “self-care”. It just doesn’t seem to be something I can get all excited about. Although it seems obvious, I just never really got the WIIFM (what’s in it for me).
At the time I most needed some self-care, I couldn’t summon the energy to even do it.
That probably sounds strange, coming from me, who is the first person getting up on a soapbox about taking care of you. But sometimes, when you’re in the middle of the storm, you just can’t see anything except what’s right in front of you.
You see, I used to have this thing about my personal email. I never, ever checked it.
My friends and family found this so frustrating, but what they didn’t see was that I had a life where I spent every single day from 8:30-5 tethered to email.
On days when I was working but out of the office, I’d have to find someone to check it for me. When I was on vacation, there had to be a message stating I wasn’t there, and giving the contact information of someone who was there.
Once, I’d been out “in the field” at offices all day. There were long, involved, tiring meetings. Sad, depressing situations piled on one another. I didn’t have time to check my email before I went home (and at a government office, computers are slow and the doors lock at, like 5:05. Seriously, you’ve got to get OUT.)
I went home to two kids, dinner, baths… you know. Probably didn’t even crawl into bed but fell asleep on the couch. Was up before everybody else, leaving instructions for my husband about kid-related things so I could get to the office before I needed to.
I arrived at the office that morning and my boss took one look at me, dressed in a casual skirt and sweater.
“You didn’t check your email, did you?” she said, in a tone that kicked me in the gut without so much as lifting a finger.
I didn’t have the hutzpah to tell her that instead of an evening of intense bon bon eating, I’d finished doing my assigned dirty work, nearly gotten locked in the office, hauled ass to pick up my kids at two different locations, gotten everybody fed and actually spent time focused on my own family before I collapsed.
That I hadn’t even thought of using my lousy dial-up connection and ancient computer to spend half an hour just to see if she’d, by some chance, sent me an email after 3 when I’d last checked.
No. I didn’t say it. I’d merely admitted I hadn’t checked my email.
Turns out, she had emailed me at about 4:45 the day before, letting me know she was sending me as her representative to an inter-divisional luncheon. A big deal. People from the Governor’s office would be there.
It was expected that I would know this. And that I would dress appropriately.
Can you see why another layer of email was just not appealing?
So, not checking my personal email became my own form of rebellion. I was too exhausted at the time to do much more than say “no”. To draw a tiny and seemingly unimportant line in the sand.
I just had to keep going. One foot in front of the other.
The thought of “self-care” made me laugh, in an evil, unsettling sort of way. Self care? Seriously. Who cared. Who had time. Certainly not me.
And why weren’t other people taking care of me? I was taking care of them all the time, couldn’t they return the favor?
There was so little of myself left, that caring for me seemed ridiculous. It also seemed selfish — since my kids and my family saw so little of me.
Everybody else — my boss, my “difficult” projects, my clients, the kids, my husband, the dog — had more of a claim on me than I did.
I had nothing. No internal way of dealing with this. No friends who really understood, and no time to connect with them anyway.
The only thing I knew to do was to be a “hard charger”, as my mother used to call it — someone who was up before dawn and home long after dark, working all day on something and taking care of everybody else.
Not checking my email was, thinking back, about the only thing I was able to control in my own life.
It was probably the only thing I actually did to practice a little bit of self-care.
************
If this kind of seemed cool, you might also enjoy these posts:
Unbogged — In which I invent a new word and apply it to my stuckness…
Sometimes you just get off track — Discussing lessons learned in recent weeks, like “when you hurt, pay attention”…
Pollyanna and the computer that went to the Bahamas — Dealing with extreme ickiness without flipping out…
Pollyanna has a really bad day
Aug 8th
Sometimes I can just feel the veil falling over me. It’s like thunder clouds rolling in. I can see them on the horizon. It’s just a matter of time.
For a long time — most of my life, in fact — I felt I should get a running start before this happened. I thought I could put on some rose colored glasses and get really busy, and avoid the veil of the storm falling over me. For years I did that.
If I worked and worked and worked, the veil wouldn’t catch up. The storm wouldn’t hit. There was no time for it to happen.
But eventually the rose colored glasses got too scratched and I just wasn’t able to move fast enough anymore.
Nowadays, it catches up with me fast and, even if only for a moment, I’m completely consumed in the storm.
Sometimes the veil stays all day. Sometimes it’s for longer. Sometimes Effie is able to help, but other times she’s learned it’s just something I need to deal with and work through.
It’s so hard when this happens. Especially when you know you must get to the next thing… the event… the client… the appointment. Or when there is something really, really hard you have to take care of and it just needs to happen.
And if the storm moves in and stays for long periods (fortunately, mine are mostly short-lived), it’s always a good idea to get help.
It’s hard.
I share this not because I’m incredibly crazy (which I might be), but to let you know that many people experience this. Even if you’re the most successful person in the world, you’re still not immune from the veil falling over you. The storm chases so many of us.
No matter how many pairs of glasses you get, or how fast you try to run, it happens.
The difference, perhaps, is what you do once it happens. Do you weather the storm, or do you put on your glasses and try to avoid the storm by running and running. And running.
The question becomes, how long can you keep running.
I struggle with this. And my clients struggle with this. In that sense, we’re weathering the storm together. It’s nice to have people willing to stick with you.
After years and years of running, it can be scary to slow down and let the veil come over you. Scarier still to figure out how to move out of it.
But you can do it. At least I believe you can. Because you are not alone.