self-care feels gluttonous to me now
I’ve never been stung by a bee, which means the hypochondriac in me is convinced I must be deathly allergic; one is circling me now, just close enough to test fate.... I’m on the rooftop writing this, and he’s either staring at me or at the sunset behind me; I’m choosing to believe it’s the latter. Or, maybe he’s up here wondering why I’m up here wondering why he’s up here. Most likely, he’s just guarding his post- the tree on the south side of the house, blooming white to announce spring’s arrival. The bee and I seem to have a quiet agreement about what that means. Winter is over. And spring is something we return to as our own ritual.
Seasons in Philadelphia work to ensure shock value to keep it’s inhabitants guessing. It’s winter crept in through the cracks of my windows, seeped through my skin, and switched the wooden stove buried deep in my spine into hibernation mode. To save energy and resources, I have been feeding the stove enough kindling to keep it comfortable, complacent even. Just enough to keep a small flame to get the basics done. Eat, make money, physical activity, a small bit of social interaction, and a lotta sleep. Winter is the socially acceptable time for self-care. Similarly to a bear, we close off parts of ourselves to reap the benefits of our labor during the warmer months.
Leaving my little cave and seeing the trees come to life has me thinking about how I am going to adapt to this new season- what excuses did winter provide me that no longer will hold in the court of my mind now that this bee is already so hard at work?
More so now then ever, the idea of self-care glows almost as bright as the screens we get sucked into… presenting us a solution for all of our issues. Stressed out about the bills you haven’t paid? Oh! Just put on a nice facemask and watch a few episodes of your favorite comfort show. The pile of laundry in the corner that seems to have a new square root every time you look at it? Mmmm, well, you can’t do cleaning unless you're clean yourself, so might as well take a long shower beforehand. Feeling a bit tired and sluggish? You have soooo earned DoorDash for the 3rd time this week, do it!
A Clarissa Pinkola Estés’s blurb surfaced on my Pinterest feed the other day:
“I've seen women insist on cleaning everything in the house before they could sit down to write... and you know it's a funny thing about housecleaning... it never comes to an end. Perfect way to stop a woman. A woman must be careful to not allow over-responsibility (or over-respectabilty) to steal her necessary creative rests, riffs, and raptures. She simply must put her foot down and say no to half of what she believes she "should" be doing. Art is not meant to be created in stolen moments only.”
― Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Women Who Run With the Wolves
God, this got me thinking (and a new reservation placed at the library). A phrase I often hear is, “Oh, when I do or get ____ … then I will be able to do ____.” Like, yeah, when you get your passport, then you will be able to travel. Or when you finally feel inspired, you can work on that empty canvas that has been leaning against your wall for 3 months. My personal paralysis is that I have to clean my room before I can write…. Let me tell you a secret: my room is never clean, at least not to the standard that I seem to be unable to achieve in my mind. This idea of self-care (and waiting until the perfect time) has me contemplating what I actually need to do to take care of myself vs what I am allowing to be an excuse. Will going on a long walk make me feel better about the constant whispering of my student loans in the back of my mind? Temporarily, probably, yes. But while I’m on that walk, it’s whispers are still in my ears no matter how sweet the birds are singing.
Self-care can be good, but too much of a good thing tends to skew bad. The resurgence of the ALS ice bucket challenge in the name of mental health highlights how much we have evolved in our society. We comprehend the importance of taking care of our brain health as much as it is to get a pap smear, hell, maybe even more (setting a reminder to do this tomorrow). And while I think this is one of the more beneficial understandings of our time, as with most things, all sides of such concepts need to be curated to match the individual. Capitalism’s eyes lit up at this new, untouched market, digging it’s grimey little fingers into a side and pulling it as hard as they could. While yes, self-care should be implemented daily in your life, looking at what’s really behind it is important too. Aesthetic journals with prompts you only write in 5 times, therapy apps that aren’t covered by insurance, organizing your life with glass containers specifically meant for its contents… and don’t get me started on “influencers” shoving expensive products down our pores, only to clog them up a week later. This concept of a thing that is meant to take care of our wellbeing can also just as easily become an excuse to not…
The cost of self-care
I want you to think of something that holds a similar weight on your shoulders to my loans issue I mentioned earlier. Maybe calling to schedule that doctor's appointment (pap smear Hope!), or clearing out your overflowing email (hiii people coming from my newsletter), or simply checking your bank account (guilty). Now, I want you to really think about how much anxiety that thing is currently causing you, as well as how much it has in the past. Now it’s important that you sit here and acknowledge that thing with me.
Ok have it?
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.
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Great, now imagine I did it for you. I literally did whatever task you have been putting off for you and now it is done (somewhere deep in my body, I felt relief just conceptualizing that happening). Think about what that would feel like to you and how much time you will now have on your hands to not spend worrying about this thing!
“Sometimes I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I'm not living.”
- Jonathan Safran Foer
I think you get the point…
It’s dark outside as the sun has set behind me- yet, I still see the bee tracing each movement of my fingers on this notepad. I can make out the reflection of myself in the two floating orbs: a warm light, almost like a flame…
The bee has stung me in a different way, the spark of it racing down through my spine. It reaches the wooden stove, sacrificing itself to be engulfed by the flame. Seeing now that I’m almost too comfortable, the fire surges through my limbs and stretches to each corner of my mind. It uses these bullshit coping mechanisms I’ve conjured as fuel, as well as consuming the soft comforts I’ve confused with care.
This spring, I do not just want to feed it kindling,
I want to be gulping down gasoline.
That's all I got, I think? Hmmm..
Anyways, I hope you have a good day,
-Hope Joy
The brain to the blog <3
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