I have a huge list of things to do today to get ready for Ben’s hospitalization tomorrow and surgery. Of course the list is in my head because actual list making is stressful to me, but that’s another post for another day. Not only do I have all my hospital prep to get done, but I have bonus laundry. The bonus is because, courtesy of Hirschsprung’s disease, there were two blowout diaper incidents in my bed last night.
But for now, all my sheets are in the washer, the kids are successfully off to school, and I am cozied up in my favorite chair with a cup of coffee and writing.
If the writing part sounds odd, well, maybe it is, but it’s soothing to me, so here I am, jotting down my thoughts on self care as an act of self care.
Self care doesn’t come naturally to me. I have somehow equated self care with selfish, and selfishness is taboo. Selfish is a word with an edge to it, used as contemptuously as other taboo words like slut. I cannot think of a name I would despair being called more than selfish, therefore, I threw the baby out with the bathwater and shunned self care.
It didn’t work.
After experiencing a drawn out physical health crisis in 2012, (which I believe was brought on by stress, but that’s a discussion that will have to wait), I began to intentionally pursue self care. First, trying to even define it, then determining what it would look like for me, then putting it into practice. I’m still not good at it.
I practice self care, but it comes at the expense of guilt. So that is my next step; learning to allay the guilt that accompanies self care. It’s a steep learning curve.
So today I will relax first. I will take breaks and indulge and comfort myself. I will run as much as I want to, not a step more or less.
And this blog post? It’s probably just a shameless attempt to get people to tell me that I deserve self care and not to feel guilty, so please feel free to do so.