Self care. Now that’s a loaded term. And in the gigantic shit show that is 2020, it’s everywhere, permeating our subconscious and butting into our conversations like the latest gossip trends. It’s so prevalent, in fact, that if you’ve slacked on incorporating any sort of consistent practice, the sound of those two little words can stir up some pretty pesky emotions—emotions that are quite counterproductive to the goal at hand. To name a few:
Guilt: But I feel bad when I choose to spend time on me instead of focusing on my work or family or something else more “productive.”
Anxiety: But how do I fit aromatherapy and gratitude journaling and deep breathing in between all the laundry, food preparing, dish washing, child rearing, distance teaching and internal screaming?
Overwhelm: But everybody everywhere all the time is talking about self care. What does it even mean anymore?
That last one is my personal favorite. The sheer definition of “self care” has gotten so bloated, you can slap a label on just about any action or object that gives you a modicum of indulgent pleasure and no one will fight you. Eating a tub of peanut butter with a spoon? Self care. Letting my kid watch 5 hours of TV so I can poop alone and think in peace? Self care. Actually taking a moment away from my computer to pee instead of Amazon-ing the best form of adult diapers? Self care. (Yes, Amazon-ing.)
Just give “self care” a good Google and you’ll see—there are pages upon pages of lists and numbered guides on how to presumably take better care of yourself. The good news is that most of these are divorced from the “old school” sense of the term, you know, the mani-pedis, the expensive spa days, the drinks out with your friends. Never mind that the pandemic has virtually canceled most of these activities, but it’s also safe to say they’ve had their moment. They’re over. Like pedal pubs and chunky highlights, we’ve moved on.
Yet even though the meaning of self care itself has morphed into something more accessible—the resounding to-do lists are more “free” and “do-it-at-home” in nature—they’re a pretty big letdown. Too many of them are laden with cheesy stock photography of clinically happy people and the ideas themselves are so very basic, I’m not even sure they should be allowed on the internet. It’s like, I’m embarrassed for them. To name a few:
Listen to music Studies have shown that listening to music can reduce stress, increase mood, and boost self-confidence. An upbeat playlist can give you energy, and soothing, soft music can help ease you to sleep.
Thanks, Tips. But here’s a question: why are we assuming that people only want two flavors of music: upbeat and soothing. What if I want a playlist that inspires me to throw shit, because sometimes that feels good too? What then?
Ok, moving on.
Drink water Make sure you are staying well hydrated. Not only will it help manage your appetite and ward off all the stress eating you might otherwise do, but there are lots of other mental and physical health benefits as well.
🤦♀️ 🤦♀️ 🤦♀️ If you’ haven’t figured this out about water yet, I think you might need a little more than self care.
Binge Netflix.
Right. I don’t really have a good link or resource for this one, but trust, it’s out there. Still, if ignoring my family and all personal obligations in order to stream three hours of true crime documentaries can be lumped under the self care umbrella, well...aw, fuck it. I’m actually into this one.
But “unsexy self care” advice, like vacuum under your furniture, go to the dentist, make sure your prescriptions are up to date? I mean, if I wanted advice from my mother, I’d call her. (No offense, mom. XOXO.)
Self care just might be the new flossing. It sounds like something you know you should probably do but for shit’s sake it’s annoying. So why can’t I stop thinking about it these days? Maybe because it’s so prevalent in our culture I can’t ignore it. Or maybe because I’m actually pretty good at doing it from time to time. But still, I think I’m not alone when I say that some days, I need more than a skimpy internet list can provide. I drink the water, I do the binging of the shows. I vacuum. A lot. And I might even feel a lot better afterward...for like 5 hot minutes. Then some small child or larger man child is asking me where the god damn remote is again.
You know what I really want Instead? I want permission. Permission to not give a fuck for a sec. Permission to not follow a guideline or a best practice. Permission to temporarily overreact about something petty and stupid, like my husband always hanging his shirts in the closet so they face the OPPOSITE direction as mine, because we’re living in an upside down bizzaro world right now and nothing is ok. Permission to call bullshit on self care, even for just a minute, and feel the feelings instead of trying to put an emotional bandage on them. But if you’re like me, you’ll know that the first person you look to for that permission is very rarely yourself.
Well, not today. Consider this article permission, not to mention a refreshing take on this whole self care thing. Instead of acting like the self-respecting adults we are, maybe in 2020 we need something a little more tangible...something more instinctual. Maybe we need to act like the self-deprecating, emotionally unstable, totally unhinged toddlers we’re pretending not to be. Yes, in order to make a little space for more, shall we say, age appropriate behaviors, we might just need a moment to let an old fashioned tantrum rip. And if that means cranking the rage music, wallowing in our shit feelings, kicking our non-pedicured feet on the floor and screaming for an adult-sized sippy cup full of whisky, so be it.
Sure, 2020 will still be here when we’re done. But so will the liquor stores with more whiskey. (And let’s face it, it beats vacuuming.) If there’s anything that this year has taught us, it’s that there’s time. Lots and lots of time to do zero of the things we want and all of the things we should. So for today, let’s just enjoy the freak out. We’ve earned it.
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